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THE  ROAD  TO  GLORY 


On  the  decks  above  were  three  hundred  desperate  and 

well-armed  natives.  (Page  144) 


THE  ROAD  TO 
GLORY 


BY 

E.  ALEXANDER  POWELL 


ILLUSTRATED 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK::::::::::::::::::::::i9is 


COPYRIGHT,  IQIS,  BY 


Published  September,  1915 


TO  MY  SON 
EDWARD  ALEXANDER  POWELL,  III 


FOREWORD 

THE  great  painting — it  is  called  "Vers  la 
Gloire,"  if  I  remember  rightly — reaches  from 
floor  to  ceiling  of  the  Pantheon  in  Paris.  Across 
the  huge  canvas,  in  a  whirlwind  of  dust  and 
color,  sweeps  an  avalanche  of  horsemen — cuiras 
siers,  dragoons,  lancers,  guides,  hussars,  chasseurs 
— with  lances  levelled,  blades  swung  high,  banners 
streaming — France's  unsung  heroes  in  mad  pursuit 
of  Glory. 

That  picture  brings  home  to  the  youth  of 
France  the  fact  that  the  nation  owes  as  great  a 
debt  of  gratitude  to  men  whose  very  names  have 
been  forgotten  as  to  those  whom  it  has  rewarded 
with  titles  and  decorations;  it  teaches  that  a 
man  can  be  a  hero  without  having  his  name  cut 
deep  in  brass  or  stone;  that  time  and  time  again 
history  has  been  made  by  men  whom  the  his 
torians  have  overlooked  or  disregarded. 

This  is  even  more  true  of  our  own  country,  for 
three-fourths  of  the  territory  of  the  United  States 
was  won  for  us  by  men  whose  names  are  without 
significance  to  most  Americans.  Nolan,  Bean, 
Gutierrez,  Magee,  Kemper,  Perry,  Toledo,  Hum 
bert,  Lallemand,  De  Aury,  Mina,  Long — these 

vii 


Foreword 

names  doubtless  convey  nothing  to  you,  yet  it 
was  the  persistent  and  daring  assaults  made  by 
these  men  upon  the  Spanish  boundaries  which 
undermined  the  power  of  Spain  upon  this  conti 
nent  and  paved  the  way  for  Austin,  Milam, 
Travis,  Bowie,  Crockett,  Ward,  and  Houston  to 
effect  the  liberation  of  Texas.  On  the  other  side 
of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  the  Kempers,  McGregor, 
Hubbard,  and  Mathews  harassed  the  Spaniards 
in  the  Floridas  until  Andrew  Jackson,  in  an  unof 
ficial  and  almost  unrecorded  war,  forced  Spain 
to  cede  those  rich  provinces  to  the  United  States. 
In  a  desperate  battle  with  savages  on  the  banks 
of  an  obscure  creek  in  Indiana,  William  Henry 
Harrison  broke  the  power  of  Tecumseh's  Indian 
confederation,  set  forward  the  hands  of  progress 
in  the  West  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and,  inciden 
tally,  changed  the  map  of  Europe.  A  Missouri 
militia  officer,  Alexander  Doniphan,  without  a 
war-chest,  without  supports,  and  without  com 
munications,  invaded  a  hostile  nation  at  the  head 
of  a  thousand  volunteers,  repeatedly  routed  forces 
many  times  the  strength  of  his  own,  conquered, 
subdued,  and  pacified  a  territory  larger  than 
France  and  Italy  put  together;  and,  after  a  march 
equivalent  to  a  fourth  of  the  circumference  of  the 
globe,  returned  to  the  United  States,  bringing  with 

viii 


Foreword 

him  battle-flags  and  cannon  captured  on  fields 
whose  names  his  country  people  had  never  so 
much  as  heard  before.  A  missionary  named 
Marcus  Whitman,  by  the  most  daring  and  dra 
matic  ride  in  history,  during  which  he  crossed 
the  continent  on  horseback  in  the  depths  of 
winter,  facing  death  almost  every  mile  from  cold, 
starvation,  or  Indians,  prevented  the  Pacific 
Northwest  from  passing  under  the  rule  of  Eng 
land.  Matthew  Perry,  without  firing  a  shot  or 
shedding  a  drop  of  blood,  opened  Japan  to  com 
merce,  Christianity,  and  civilization,  and  made 
American  influence  predominant  in  the  Pacific, 
though,  a  decade  later,  David  McDougal  was 
compelled  to  teach  the  yellow  men  respect  for 
our  citizens  and  our  flag  at  the  mouths  of  his 
belching  guns. 

Certain  of  these  men  have  been  accused  of 
being  adventurers,  as  they  unquestionably  were 
— but  what,  pray,  were  Hawkins  and  Raleigh 
and  Drake  ?  Others  have  been  condemned  as 
being  filibusters,  an  accusation  which  in  some 
cases  was  doubtless  deserved — but  were  Jason 
and  his  Argonauts  anything  but  filibusters  who 
raided  Colchis  to  loot  it  of  the  golden  fleece  ? 
Adventurers  and  filibusters  though  some  of  them 
may  have  been,  they  were  brave  men  (there  can 

ix 


Foreword 

be  no  disputing  that)  and  makers  of  history. 
But  it  was  their  fortune — or  misfortune — to  have 
been  romantic  and  picturesque  and  to  have  gone 
ahead  without  the  formality  of  obtaining  the 
government's  commission  or  permission,  which, 
in  the  eyes  of  the  sedate  and  prosaic  historians, 
has  completely  damned  them.  But,  as  we  have 
not  hesitated  to  benefit  from  the  lands  they  won 
for  us,  it  is  but  doing  them  the  barest  justice  to 
listen  to  their  stories.  And  I  think  you  will  agree 
with  me  that  in  their  stories  there  is  remarkably 
little  of  which  we  need  to  feel  ashamed  and  much 
of  which  we  have  reason  to  be  proud. 

Devious  and  dangerous  were  the  roads  which 
these  men  followed — amid  the  swamps  of  Flor 
ida,  across  the  sun-baked  Texan  prairies,  down 
the  burning  deserts  of  Chihuahua,  over  the  snow 
bound  ridges  of  the  Rockies,  into  the  miasmic 
jungles  of  Tabasco,  along  the  pirate-haunted  coasts 
of  Malaysia,  across  the  Indian  country,  through 
the  mined  and  shot-swept  straits  of  Shimonoseki; 
but,  no  matter  what  perils  bordered  them,  or  into 
what  far  corner  of  the  earth  they  led,  at  the 
end  Glory  beckoned  and  called. 

E.  ALEXANDER  POWELL. 
SANTA  BARBARA, 
California. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

FOREWORD vii 

I.    ADVENTURERS  ALL i 

II.    WHEN    WE    SMASHED    THE    PROPHET'S 

POWER 55 

III.  THE  WAR  THAT  WASN'T  A  WAR      .     .  87 

IV.  THE  FIGHT  AT  QUALLA  BATTOO   .    .     .  131 
V.    UNDER  THE  FLAG  OF  THE  LONE  STAR  161 

VI.    THE    PREACHER    WHO    RODE    FOR    AN 

EMPIRE        195 

VII.    THE  MARCH  OF  THE  ONE  THOUSAND    .  235 

VIII.    WHEN  WE  FOUGHT  THE  JAPANESE   .    .  277 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

On  the  decks  above  were  three  hundred  desperate  and 
well-armed  natives Frontispiece 


FACING  PAGE 


The  Indians,   panic-stricken   at  the   sight  of  the  on 
coming  troopers,  broke  and  ran 84 

Bowie,  propped  on  his  pillows,  shot  two  soldiers  and 
plunged  his  terrible  knife  into  the  throat  of  another    .     178 

In  another  moment  the  gun  was  pouring  death  into  the 
ranks  of  its  late  owners  .  260 


ADVENTURERS  ALL 


ADVENTURERS  ALL 

THIS  story  properly  begins  in  an  emperor's 
bathtub.  The  bathtub  was  in  the  Palace 
of  the  Tuileries,  and,  immersed  to  the  chin  in 
its  cologne-scented  water,  was  Napoleon.  The 
nineteenth  century  was  but  a  three-year-old;  the 
month  was  April,  and  the  trees  in  the  Tuileries 
Garden  were  just  bursting  into  bud;  and  the 
First  Consul — he  made  himself  Emperor  a  few 
weeks  later — was  taking  his  Sunday-morning  bath. 
There  was  a  scratch  at  the  door — scratching  hav 
ing  been  substituted  for  knocking  in  the  palace 
after  the  Egyptian  campaign — and  the  Mame 
luke  body-guard  ushered  into  the  bathroom  Na 
poleon's  brothers  Joseph  and  Lucien.  How  the 
conversation  began  between  this  remarkable  trio 
of  Corsicans  is  of  small  consequence.  It  is  enough 
to  know  that  Napoleon  dumfounded  his  brothers 
by  the  blunt  announcement  that  he  had  deter 
mined  to  sell  the  great  colony  of  Louisiana — all 
that  remained  to  France  of  her  North  American 
empire — to  the  United  States.  He  made  this 
astounding  announcement,  as  Joseph  wrote  after- 

3 


The  Road  to  Glory 

ward,  "with  as  little  ceremony  as  our  dear  father 
would  have  shown  in  selling  a  vineyard."  In 
censed  at  Napoleon's  cool  assumption  that  the 
great  overseas  possession  was  his  to  dispose  of  as 
he  saw  fit,  Joseph,  his  hot  Corsican  blood  getting 
the  better  of  his  discretion,  leaned  over  the  tub 
and  shook  his  clinched  fist  in  the  face  of  his  au 
gust  brother. 

"What  you  propose  is  unconstitutional!"  he 
cried.  "If  you  attempt  to  carry  it  out  I  swear 
that  I  will  be  the  first  to  oppose  you !" 

White  with  passion  at  this  unaccustomed  oppo 
sition,  Napoleon  raised  himself  until  half  his  body 
was  out  of  the  opaque  and  frothy  water. 

"You  will  have  no  chance  to  oppose  me!"  he 
screamed,  beside  himself  with  anger.  "I  con 
ceived  this  scheme,  I  negotiated  it,  and  I  shall 
execute  it.  I  will  accept  the  responsibility  for 
what  I  do.  Bah  !  I  scorn  your  opposition  !"  And 
he  dropped  back  into  the  bath  so  suddenly  that 
the  resultant  splash  drenched  the  future  King  of 
Spain  from  head  to  foot.  This  extraordinary 
scene,  which,  ludicrous  though  it  was,  was  to 
vitally  affect  the  future  of  the  United  States, 
was  brought  to  a  sudden  termination  by  the 
valet,  who  had  been  waiting  with  the  bath  tow 
els,  shocked  at  the  spectacle  of  a  future  Emperor 

4 


Adventurers  All 

and  a  future  King  quarrelling  in  a  bathroom  over 
the  disposition  of  an  empire,  falling  on  the  floor  in 
a  faint. 

Though  this  narrative  concerns  itself,  from  be 
ginning  to  end,  with  adventurers — if  Bonaparte 
himself  was  not  the  very  prince  of  adventurers, 
then  I  do  not  know  the  meaning  of  the  word — it 
is  necessary,  for  its  proper  understanding,  to  here 
interject  a  paragraph  or  two  of  contemporaneous 
history.  In  1800  Napoleon,  whose  fertile  brain 
was  planning  the  re-establishment  in  America  of 
that  French  colonial  empire  which  a  generation 
before  had  been  destroyed  by  England,  persuaded 
the  King  of  Spain,  by  the  bribe  of  a  petty  Italian 
principality,  to  cede  Louisiana  to  the  French. 
But  in  the  next  three  years  things  turned  out  so 
contrary  to  his  expectations  that  he  was  reluc 
tantly  compelled  to  abandon  his  scheme  for  co 
lonial  expansion  and  prepare  for  eventualities 
nearer  home.  The  army  he  had  sent  to  Haiti, 
and  which  he  had  intended  to  throw  into  Louisi 
ana,  had  wasted  away  from  disease  and  in  battle 
with  the  blacks  under  the  skilful  leadership  of 
L'Ouverture  until  but  a  pitiful  skeleton  remained. 
Meanwhile  the  attitude  of  England  and  Austria 
was  steadily  growing  more  hostile,  and  it  did  not 
need  a  telescope  to  see  the  war-clouds  which  her- 

5 


The  Road  to  Glory 

aided  another  great  European  struggle  piling  up 
on  France's  political  horizon.  Realizing  that  in 
the  life-and-death  struggle  which  was  approach 
ing  he  could  not  be  hampered  with  the  defense 
of  a  distant  colony,  Napoleon  decided  that,  if  he 
was  unable  to  hold  Louisiana,  he  would  at  least 
put  it  out  of  the  reach  of  his  arch-enemy,  Eng 
land,  by  selling  it  to  the  United  States.  It  was 
a  master-stroke  of  diplomacy.  Moreover,  he 
needed  money — needed  it  badly,  too — for  France, 
impoverished  by  the  years  of  warfare  from  which 
she  had  just  emerged,  was  ill  prepared  to  embark 
on  another  struggle. 

There  were  in  Paris  at  this  time  two  Ameri 
cans,  Robert  R.  Livingston  and  James  Monroe, 
who  had  been  commissioned  by  President  Jeffer 
son  to  negotiate  with  the  French  Government  for 
the  purchase  of  the  city  of  New  Orleans  and  a 
small  strip  of  territory  adjacent  to  it,  so  that  the 
settlers  in  Kentucky  and  Tennessee  might  have  a 
free  port  on  the  gulf.  After  months  spent  in  dip 
lomatic  intercourse,  during  which  Talleyrand,  the 
French  foreign  minister,  could  be  induced  neither 
to  accept  nor  reject  their  proposals,  the  commis 
sioners  were  about  ready  to  abandon  the  business 
in  despair.  I  doubt,  therefore,  if  there  were  two 
more  astonished  men  in  all  Europe  than  the 

6 


Adventurers  All 

two  Americans  when  Talleyrand  abruptly  asked 
them  whether  the  United  States  would  buy  the 
whole  of  Louisiana  and  what  price  it  would  be  will 
ing  to  pay.  It  was  as  though  a  man  had  gone  to 
buy  a  cow  and  the  owner  had  suddenly  offered 
him  his  whole  farm.  Though  astounded  and  em 
barrassed,  for  they  had  been  authorized  to  spend 
but  two  million  dollars  in  the  contemplated  pur 
chase,  the  Americans  had  the  courage  to  shoulder 
the  responsibility  of  making  so  tremendous  a 
transaction,  for  there  was  no  time  to  communi 
cate  with  Washington  and  no  one  realized  better 
than  they  did  that  Louisiana  must  be  purchased 
at  once  if  it  was  to  be  had  at  all.  England  and 
France  were,  as  they  knew,  on  the  very  brink  of 
war,  and  they  also  knew  that  the  first  thing  Eng 
land  would  do  when  war  was  declared  would  be  to 
seize  Louisiana,  in  which  case  it  would  be  lost  to 
the  United  States  forever.  This  necessity  for 
prompt  action  permitted  of  but  little  haggling 
over  terms,  and  on  May  22,  1803,  Napoleon  signed 
the  treaty  which  transferred  the  million  square 
miles  comprised  in  the  colony  of  Louisiana  to  the 
United  States  for  fifteen  million  dollars.  Nor 
was  the  sale  effected  an  instant  too  soon,  for  on 
that  very  day  England  declared  war. 

Now,  in  purchasing  Louisiana,  Jefferson,  though 
7 


The  Road  to  Glory 

he  got  the  greatest  bargain  in  history,  found  that 
the  French  had  thrown  in  a  boundary  dispute  to 
give  good  measure.  The  treaty  did  not  specify 
the  limits  of  the  colony. 

"What  are  the  boundaries  of  Louisiana  ?"  Liv 
ingston  asked  Talleyrand  when  the  treaty  was 
being  prepared. 

"I  don't  know,"  was  the  answer.  "You  must 
take  it  as  we  received  it  from  Spain." 

"But  what  did  you  receive?"  persisted  the 
American. 

"I  don't  know,"  repeated  the  minister.  "You 
are  getting  a  noble  bargain,  monsieur,  and  you 
will  doubtless  make  the  best  of  it." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Talleyrand  was  telling  the 
literal  truth  (which  must  have  been  a  novel  ex 
perience  for  him) :  he  did  not  know.  The  bound 
aries  of  Louisiana  had  never  been  definitely  es 
tablished.  It  seems,  indeed,  to  have  come  under 
the  application  of 

"The  good  old  rule  .  .  .  the  simple  plan, 
That  they  shall  take  who  have  the  power, 
And  they  shall  keep  who  can." 

Hence,  though  American  territory  and  Spanish 
marched  side  by  side  for  twenty-five  hundred 
miles,  it  was  found  impossible  to  agree  on  a 

8 


Adventurers  All 

definite  line  of  demarcation,  the  United  States 
claiming  that  its  new  purchase  extended  as  far 
westward  as  the  Sabine  River,  while  Spain  em 
phatically  asserted  that  the  Mississippi  formed  the 
dividing  line.  Along  about  1806,  however,  a  work 
ing  arrangement  was  agreed  upon,  whereby  Ameri 
can  troops  were  not  to  move  west  of  the  Red 
River,  while  Spanish  soldiers  were  not  to  go  east 
of  the  Sabine.  For  the  next  fifteen  years  this 
arrangement  remained  in  force,  the  strip  of  ter 
ritory  between  these  two  rivers,  which  was  known 
as  the  neutral  ground,  quickly  becoming  a  recog 
nized  place  of  refuge  for  fugitives  from  justice, 
bandits,  desperadoes,  adventurers,  and  bad  men. 
To  it,  as  though  drawn  by  a  magnet,  flocked  the 
adventure-hungry  from  every  corner  of  the  three 
Americas. 

The  vast  territory  beyond  the  Sabine,  then 
known  as  New  Spain  and  a  few  years  later,  when 
it  had  achieved  its  independence,  as  Mexico,  was 
ruled  from  the  distant  City  of  Mexico  in  true 
Spanish  style.  Military  rule  held  full  sway;  civil 
law  was  unknown.  Foreigners  without  passports 
were  imprisoned;  trading  across  the  Sabine  was 
prohibited;  the  Spanish  officials  were  suspicious 
of  every  one.  Because  this  trade  was  forbid 
den  was  the  very  thing  that  made  it  so  attrac- 

9 


The  Road  to  Glory 

tive  to  the  merchants  of  the  frontier,  while  the 
grassy  plains  and  fertile  lowlands  beyond  the  Sa- 
bine  beckoned  alluringly  to  the  stock-raiser  and 
the  settler.  And  though  there  was  just  enough 
danger  to  attract  them  there  was  not  enough 
strength  to  awe  them.  Jeering  at  governmental 
restrictions,  Spanish  and  American  alike,  the 
frontiersmen  began  to  pour  across  the  Sabine  into 
Texas  in  an  ever-increasing  stream.  "Gone  to 
Texas"  was  scrawled  on  the  door  of  many  a  de 
serted  cabin  in  Alabama,  Tennessee,  and  Ken 
tucky.  "Go  to  Texas"  became  a  slang  phrase 
heard  everywhere.  On  the  western  river  steam 
boats  the  officers'  quarters  on  the  hurricane-deck 
were  called  "the  texas"  because  of  their  remote 
ness.  When  a  boy  wanted  to  coerce  his  family 
he  threatened  to  run  away  to  Texas.  It  was  felt 
to  be  beyond  the  natural  limits  of  the  world,  and 
the  glamour  which  hovered  over  this  mysterious 
and  forbidden  land  lured  to  its  conquest  the  most 
picturesque  and  hardy  breed  of  men  that  ever 
foreran  the  columns  of  civilization.  A  contempt 
for  the  Spanish,  a  passion  for  adventure  were  the 
attitude  of  the  people  of  our  frontier  as  they 
strained  impatiently  against  the  Spanish  bound 
aries.  The  American  Government  had  nothing 
to  do  with  winning  Texas  for  the  American  people. 

10 


Adventurers  All 

The  American  frontiersmen  won  Texas  for  them 
selves,  unaided  either  by  statesmen  or  by  soldiers. 

Though  these  men  wrote  with  their  swords 
some  of  the  most  thrilling  chapters  in  our  history, 
their  very  existence  has  been  ignored  by  most 
of  our  historians.  Though  they  performed  deeds 
of  valor  of  which  any  people  would  have  reason 
to  be  proud,  it  was  in  an  unofficial,  shirt-sleeve 
sort  of  warfare,  which  the  National  Government 
neither  authorized  nor  approved.  Though  they 
laid  the  foundations  for  adding  an  enormous  terri 
tory  to  our  national  domain,  no  monuments  or 
memorials  have  been  erected  to  them;  even  their 
names  hold  no  significance  for  their  countrymen 
of  the  present  generation.  In  short,  they  were  fili 
busters,  and  that,  in  the  eyes  of  those  smug  folk 
who  believe  that  nothing  can  be  meritorious  that 
is  done  without  the  sanction  of  congresses  and 
parliaments,  completely  damned  them.  They 
were  American  dreamers.  Had  they  lived  in  the 
days  of  Cortes  and  Pizarro  and  Balboa,  of  Haw 
kins  and  Raleigh  and  Drake,  history  would  have 
dealt  more  kindly  with  them. 

The  free-lance  leaders,  who,  during  the  first 
quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century  made  the 
neutral  ground  a  synonym  for  hair-raising  adven 
ture  and  desperate  daring,  were  truly  remarkable 

ii 


The  Road  to  Glory 

men.  Five  of  them  had  held  commissions  in  the 
army  of  the  United  States;  one  of  them  had 
commanded  the  French  army  sent  to  Ireland; 
another  was  a  peer  of  France  and  had  led  a  divi 
sion  at  Waterloo;  others  had  won  rank  and  dis 
tinction  under  Napoleon,  Bolivar,  and  Jackson. 
But  because  they  wore  strange  uniforms  and 
fought  under  unfamiliar  flags,  and  because,  in 
some  cases  at  least,  they  were  actuated  by  mo 
tives  more  personal  than  patriotic,  the  historians 
have  assumed  that  we  do  not  want  to  know  about 
them,  or  that  it  will  be  better  for  us  not  to  know 
about  them.  They  take  it  for  granted  that  it  is 
better  for  Americans  to  think  that  our  territorial 
expansion  was  accomplished  by  men  with  govern 
ment  credentials  in  their  pockets,  and  when  these 
unofficial  conquerors  are  mentioned  they  turn 
away  their  heads  as  though  ashamed.  But  I  be 
lieve  that  our  people  would  prefer  to  know  the 
truth  about  these  men,  and  I  believe  that  when 
they  have  heard  it  they  will  agree  with  me  that 
in  their  amazing  exploits  there  is  much  of  which 
we  have  cause  to  be  proud  and  surprisingly  little 
of  which  we  have  need  to  feel  ashamed. 

The  first  of  these  adventurous  spirits  who  for 
more  than  twenty  years  kept  the  Spanish  and 
Mexican  authorities  in  a  fume  of  apprehension,  was 

12 


Adventurers  All 

a  young  Kentuckian  named  Philip  Nolan.  He 
was  the  first  American  explorer  of  Texas  and  the 
first  man  to  publish  a  description  of  that  region 
in  the  English  language.  He  spent  his  boyhood 
in  Frankfort,  Kentucky,  and  as  a  young  man 
turned  up  in  New  Orleans,  then  under  Spanish 
rule,  having  been,  apparently,  a  person  of  con 
siderable  importance  in  the  little  city.  Having 
heard  rumors  that  immense  droves  of  mustangs 
roamed  the  plains  of  Texas  and  seeing  for  him 
self  that  the  Spanish  troopers  in  Louisiana  were 
badly  in  need  of  horses,  he  told  the  Spanish  gov 
ernor  that  if  he  would  agree  to  purchase  the 
animals  from  him  at  a  fixed  price  per  head  and 
would  give  him  a  permit  for  the  purpose,  he  would 
organize  an  expedition  to  capture  wild  horses  in 
Texas  and  bring  them  back  to  New  Orleans. 
The  governor,  who  liked  the  young  Kentuckian, 
promptly  signed  the  contract,  gave  the  permit, 
and  Nolan,  with  a  handful  of  companions,  crossed 
the  Sabine  into  Texas,  corralled  his  horses,  brought 
them  to  New  Orleans,  and  was  paid  for  them.  It 
was  a  profitable  transaction  for  every  one  con 
cerned.  It  was  so  successful  that  another  year 
Nolan  did  it  again.  On  the  proceeds  he  went  to 
Natchez,  married  the  beauty  of  the  town,  and 
built  a  home.  But  along  toward  the  close  of 

13 


The  Road  to  Glory 

1800  the  governor  wanted  remounts  again,  for  the 
Spanish  cavalrymen  seemed  incapable  of  taking 
even  ordinary  care  of  their  horses.  So  Nolan,  who 
was,  I  fancy,  already  growing  a  trifle  weary  of  the 
tameness  of  domestic  life,  enlisted  the  services 
of  a  score  of  frontiersmen  as  adventure-loving  as 
himself,  kissed  his  bride  of  a  year  good-by,  and, 
after  showing  his  passports  to  the  American  border 
patrol  and  satisfying  them  that  his  venture  had 
the  approval  of  the  Spanish  authorities,  once  more 
crossed  the  Sabine  into  Texas.  For  a  proper  un 
derstanding  of  what  occurred  it  is  necessary  to 
explain  that,  though  Louisiana  was  under  the  juris 
diction  of  the  Spanish  Foreign  Office  (for  this  was 
before  the  province  had  been  ceded  to  France), 
Texas  was  under  the  control  of  the  Spanish  Co 
lonial  Office.  Between  these  two  branches  of  the 
government  the  bitterest  jealousy  existed,  and  a 
passport  issued  by  one  was  as  likely  as  not  to  be 
disregarded  by  the  other.  In  fact,  the  colonial 
officials  were  only  too  glad  of  an  opportunity  to 
humiliate  and  embarrass  those  connected  with  the 
Foreign  Office.  But  Nolan  and  his  men,  ignorant 
of  this  departmental  jealousy  and  conscious  that 
they  were  engaged  in  a  perfectly  innocent  enter 
prise,  went  ahead  with  their  business  of  capturing 
and  breaking  horses.  Crossing  the  Trinity,  they 


Adventurers  All 

found  themselves  on  the  edge  of  an  immense  rolling 
prairie  which,  as  they  advanced,  became  more  and 
more  arid  and  forbidding.  There  were  no  trees, 
not  even  underbrush,  and  the  only  fuel  they  could 
find  was  the  dried  dung  of  the  buffalo.  These  ani 
mals,  though  once  numerous,  had  disappeared, 
and  for  nine  days  the  little  company  had  to  sub 
sist  on  the  flesh  of  mustangs.  They  eventually 
reached  the  banks  of  the  Brazos,  however,  where 
they  found  plenty  of  elk  and  deer,  some  buffalo, 
and  "wild  horses  by  thousands."  Establishing  a 
camp  upon  the  present  site  of  Waco,  they  built  a 
stockade  and  captured  and  corralled  three  hun 
dred  head  of  horses.  While  lounging  about  the 
camp-fire  one  night,  telling  the  stories  and  sing 
ing  the  songs  of  the  frontier  and  thinking,  no 
doubt,  of  the  folks  at  home,  a  force  of  one  hundred 
and  fifty  Spaniards,  commanded  by  Don  Nimesio 
Salcedo,  commandant-general  of  the  northeastern 
provinces,  creeping  up  under  cover  of  the  darkness, 
succeeded  in  surrounding  the  unsuspecting  Ameri 
cans,  who,  warned  of  the  proximity  of  strangers 
by  the  restlessness  of  their  horses,  retreated  into 
a  square  enclosure  of  logs  which  they  had  built 
as  a  protection  against  an  attack  by  Indians.  At 
daybreak  the  Spaniards  opened  fire,  and  Nolan 
fell  with  a  bullet  through  his  brain.  The  com- 

15 


The  Road  to  Glory 

mand  of  the  expedition  then  devolved  upon  Ellis 
P.  Bean,  a  boy  of  seventeen,  who,  from  the  scanty 
shelter  of  the  log  pen,  continued  a  resistance  that 
was  hopeless  from  the  first.  Every  one  of  the 
Americans  was  a  dead  shot  and  at  fifty  paces 
could  hit  a  dollar  held  between  a  man's  fingers, 
but  they  were  vastly  outnumbered,  they  were  un- 
provisioned  for  a  siege,  and,  as  a  final  discourage 
ment,  the  Spaniards  now  brought  up  a  swivel-gun 
and  opened  on  them  with  grape.  Bean  urged  his 
men  to  follow  him  in  an  attempt  to  capture  this 
field-piece.  "It's  nothing  more  than  death,  boys," 
he  told  them,  "and  if  we  stay  here  we  shall  be 
killed  anyway."  But  his  men  were  falling  dead 
about  him  as  he  spoke,  and  the  eleven  left  alive 
decided  that  their  only  chance,  and  that  was 
slim  enough,  Heaven  knows,  lay  in  an  immediate 
retreat.  Filling  their  powder-horns  and  bullet 
pouches  and  loading  the  balance  of  their  ammuni 
tion  on  the  back  of  a  negro  slave  named  Caesar, 
they  started  off  across  the  prairie  on  their  hopeless 
march,  the  Spaniards  hanging  to  the  flanks  of  the 
little  party  as  wolves  hang  to  the  flank  of  a  dying 
steer.  All  that  day  they  plodded  eastward  under 
the  broiling  sun,  bringing  down  with  their  unerring 
rifles  those  Spaniards  who  were  incautious  enough 
to  venture  within  range.  But  at  last  they  were 

16 


Adventurers  All 

forced,  by  lack  of  food  and  water,  to  accept  the 
offer  of  the  Spanish  commander  to  permit  them  to 
return  to  the  United  States  unharmed  if  they  would 
surrender  and  promise  not  to  enter  Texas  again. 
No  sooner  had  they  given  up  their  arms,  however, 
than  the  Spaniards,  afraid  no  longer,  put  their 
prisoners  in  irons  and  marched  them  off  to  San 
Antonio,  where  they  were  kept  in  prison  for  three 
months;  then  to  San  Luis  Potosi,  where  they  were 
confined  for  sixteen  months  more,  eventually  being 
forwarded,  still  in  arms,  to  Chihuahua,  where,  in 
January,  1804,  they  were  tried  by  a  Spanish  court, 
were  defended  by  a  Spanish  lawyer,  were  acquitted, 
and  the  judge  ordered  their  release.  But  Salcedo, 
who  had  become  the  governor  of  the  province, 
determined  that  the  hated  gringos  should  not  thus 
easily  escape,  countermanded  the  findings  of  the 
court,  and  forwarded  the  papers  in  the  case  to 
the  King  of  Spain.  The  King,  by  a  decree  issued 
in  February,  1807,  after  these  innocent  Americans 
had  already  been  captives  for  nearly  seven  years, 
ordered  that  one  out  of  every  five  of  them  should 
be  hung,  and  the  rest  put  at  hard  labor  for  ten 
years.  But  when  the  decree  reached  Chihuahua 
there  were  only  nine  prisoners  left,  two  of  them 
having  died  from  the  hardships  to  which  they 
had  been  subjected.  Under  the  circumstances 

17 


The  Road  to  Glory 

the  judge,  who  was  evidently  a  man  of  some 
compassion,  construed  the  decree  as  meaning  that 
only  one  of  the  remaining  nine  should  be  put  to 
death. 

On  the  morning  of  the  9th  of  November,  1807, 
a  party  of  Spanish  officials  proceeded  to  the  bar 
racks  where  the  Americans  were  confined  and  an 
officer  read  the  King's  barbarous  decree.  A  drum 
was  brought,  a  tumbler  and  dice  were  set  upon 
it,  and  around  it,  blindfolded,  knelt  the  nine  par 
ticipants  in  this  lottery  of  death.  Some  day,  no 
doubt,  when  time  has  accorded  these  men  the 
justice  of  perspective,  Texas  will  commission  a 
famous  artist  to  paint  the  scene:  the  turquoise 
sky,  the  yellow  sand,  the  sun  glare  on  the  white 
washed  adobe  of  the  barrack  walls,  the  little, 
brown-skinned  soldiers  in  their  slovenly  uniforms 
of  soiled  white  linen,  the  Spanish  officers,  gor 
geous  in  scarlet  and  gold  lace,  awed  in  spite  of 
themselves  by  the  solemnity  of  the  occasion,  and, 
kneeling  in  a  circle  about  the  drum,  in  their 
frayed  and  tattered  buckskin,  the  prison  pallor 
on  their  faces,  the  nine  Americans — cool,  com 
posed,  and  unafraid. 

Ephraim  Blackburn,  a  Virginian  and  the 
oldest   of  the   prisoners,  took  the  fatal 
glass  and  with  a  hand  which  did  not  trem- 
18 


Adventurers  All 

ble — though  I  imagine  that  he  whispered 

a  little  prayer — threw  3  and  1 4 

Lucian  Garcia  threw  3  and  4 7 

Joseph  Reed  threw  6  and  5 n 

David  Fero  threw  5  and  3 8 

Solomon  Cooley  threw  6  and  5 II 

Jonah  Walters  threw  6  and  i 7 

Charles  Ring  threw  4  and  3 7 

William  Dawlin  threw  4  and  2 6 

Ellis  Bean  threw  4  and  i 5 

Whereupon  they  took  poor  Ephraim  Blackburn 
out  and  hanged  him. 

After  Blackburn's  execution  three  of  the  re 
maining  prisoners  were  set  at  liberty,  but  Bean, 
with  four  of  his  companions,  all  heavily  ironed, 
were  started  off  under  guard  for  Mexico  City. 
Any  one  who  questions  the  assertion  that  fact  is 
stranger  than  fiction  will  change  his  mind  after 
hearing  of  Bean's  subsequent  adventures.  They 
read  like  the  wildest  and  most  improbable  of  dime 
novels.  When  the  prisoners  reached  Salamanca 
a  young  and  strikingly  beautiful  woman,  evidently 
attracted  by  Bean's  youth  and  magnificent  phy 
sique,  managed  to  approach  him  unobserved  and 
asked  him  in  a  whisper  if  he  did  not  wish  to  es 
cape.  (As  if,  after  his  years  of  captivity  and 
hardship,  he  could  have  wished  otherwise !) 


The  Road  to  Glory 

Then  she  disappeared  as  silently  and  mysteriously 
as  she  had  come.  The  next  day  the  senora,  who, 
as  it  proved,  was  the  girl  wife  of  a  rich  old  hus 
band,  by  bribing  the  guard,  contrived  to  see  Bean 
again.  She  told  him  quite  frankly  that  her  hus 
band,  whom  she  had  been  forced  to  marry  against 
her  will,  was  absent  at  his  silver  mines,  and  sug 
gested  that,  if  Bean  would  promise  not  to  desert 
her,  she  would  find  means  to  effect  his  escape 
and  that  they  could  then  fly  together  to  the 
United  States.  It  shows  the  manner  of  man  this 
American  adventurer  was  that,  on  the  plea  that 
he  could  not  desert  his  companions  in  misfortune, 
he  declined  her  offer.  The  next  day,  as  the  pris 
oners  once  again  took  up  their  weary  march  to 
the  southward,  the  senora  slipped  into  Bean's 
hand  a  small  package.  When  an  opportunity 
came  for  him  to  open  it  he  found  that  it  con 
tained  a  letter  from  his  fair  admirer,  a  gold  ring, 
and  a  considerable  sum  of  money. 

Instead  of  being  released  upon  their  arrival  at 
the  city  of  Mexico,  as  they  had  been  led  to  ex 
pect,  the  Americans  were  marched  to  Acapulco, 
on  the  Pacific,  then  a  port  of  great  importance 
because  of  its  trade  with  the  Philippines.  Here 
Bean  was  placed  in  solitary  confinement,  the  only 
human  beings  he  saw  for  many  months  being  the 

20 


Adventurers  All 

jailer  who  brought  him  his  scanty  daily  allow 
ance  of  food  and  the  sentry  who  paced  up  and 
down  outside  his  cell.  Had  it  not  been  for  a 
white  lizard  which  he  found  in  his  dungeon  and 
which,  with  incredible  patience,  he  succeeded  in 
taming,  he  would  have  gone  mad  from  the  intol 
erable  solitude.  Learning  from  the  sentinel  that 
one  of  his  companions  had  been  taken  ill  and  had 
been  transferred  to  the  hospital,  Bean,  who  was 
a  resourceful  fellow,  prepared  his  pulse  by  strik 
ing  his  elbows  on  the  floor  and  then  sent  for  the 
prison  doctor.  Though  he  was  sent  to  the  hos 
pital,  as  he  had  anticipated,  not  only  were  his 
irons  not  removed  but  his  legs  were  placed  in 
stocks,  and,  on  the  theory  that  eating  is  not  good 
for  a  sick  man,  his  allowance  of  food  was  greatly 
reduced,  his  meat  for  a  day  consisting  of  the  head 
of  a  chicken.  When  Bean  remonstrated  with  the 
priest  over  the  insufficient  nourishment  he  was 
receiving,  the  padre  told  him  that  if  he  wasn't 
satisfied  with  what  he  was  getting  he  could  go  to 
the  devil.  Whereupon,  his  anger  overpowering 
his  judgment,  Bean  hurled  his  plate  at  the  friar's 
shaven  head  and  laid  it  open.  For  this  he  was 
punished  by  having  his  head  put  in  the  stocks, 
in  an  immovable  position,  for  fifteen  days.  When 
he  recovered  from  the  real  fever  which  this  bar- 

21 


The  Road  to  Glory 

barous  punishment  brought  on,  he  was  only  too 
glad  to  go  back  to  the  solitude  of  his  cell  and  his 
friend  the  lizard. 

While  being  taken  back  to  prison,  Bean,  who 
had  succeeded  in  concealing  on  his  person  the 
money  which  the  senora  in  Salamanca  had  given 
him,  suggested  to  his  guards  that  they  stop  at  a 
tavern  and  have  something  to  drink.  A  Span 
iard  never  refuses  a  drink,  and  they  accepted. 
So  skilfully  did  he  ply  them  with  liquor  that  one 
of  them  fell  into  a  drunken  stupor  while  the  other 
became  so  befuddled  that  Bean  found  no  diffi 
culty  in  enticing  him  into  the  garden  at  the  back 
of  the  tavern  on  the  plea  that  he  wished  to  show 
him  a  certain  flower.  As  the  man  was  bending 
over  to  examine  the  plant  to  which  Bean  had 
called  his  attention,  the  American  leaped  upon 
his  back  and  choked  him  into  unconsciousness. 
Heavily  manacled  though  he  was,  Bean  succeeded 
in  clambering  over  the  high  wall  and  escaped  to 
the  woods  outside  the  city,  where  he  filed  off  his 
irons  with  the  steel  he  used  for  striking  fire.  Con 
cealing  himself  until  nightfall,  he  slipped  into  the 
town  again,  where  he  found  an  English  sailor 
who,  upon  hearing  his  pitiful  story,  smuggled  him 
aboard  his  vessel  and  concealed  him  in  a  water- 
cask.  But,  just  as  the  anchor  was  being  hoisted 

22 


Adventurers  All 

and  he  believed  himself  free  at  last,  a  party  of 
Spanish  soldiers  boarded  the  vessel  and  hauled 
him  out  of  his  hiding-place — he  had  been  betrayed 
by  the  Portuguese  cook.  For  this  attempt  at  es 
cape  he  was  sentenced  to  eighteen  months  more 
of  solitary  confinement. 

One  day,  happening  to  overhear  an  officer 
speaking  of  having  some  rock  blasted,  Bean  sent 
word  to  him  that  he  was  an  expert  at  that  busi 
ness,  whereupon  he  was  taken  out  and  put  to 
work.  Before  he  had  been  in  the  quarry  a  week 
he  succeeded  in  once  more  making  his  escape. 
Travelling  by  night  and  hiding  by  day,  he  beat  his 
way  up  the  coast,  only  to  be  retaken  some  weeks 
later.  When  he  was  brought  before  the  governor 
of  Acapulco  that  official  went  into  a  paroxysm 
of  rage  at  sight  of  the  American  whose  iron  will 
he  had  been  unable  to  break  either  by  imprison 
ment  or  torture.  Bean,  who  had  reached  such  a 
stage  of  desperation  that  he  didn't  care  what 
happened  to  him,  looking  the  governor  squarely 
in  the  eye,  told  him,  in  terms  which  seared  and 
burned,  exactly  what  he  thought  of  him  and  de 
fied  him  to  do  his  worst.  That  official,  at  his 
wits'  end  to  know  how  to  subdue  the  unruly 
American,  gave  orders  that  he  was  to  be  chained 
to  a  gigantic  mulatto,  the  most  dangerous  crimi- 

23 


The  Road  to  Glory 

nal  in  the  prison,  the  latter  being  promised  a  year's 
reduction  in  his  sentence  if  he  would  take  care  of 
his  yokemate,  whom  he  was  authorized  to  pun 
ish  as  frequently  as  he  saw  fit.  But  the  punish 
ing  was  the  other  way  around,  for  Bean  pommelled 
the  big  negro  so  terribly  that  the  latter  sent  word 
to  the  governor  that  he  would  rather  have  his 
sentence  increased  than  to  be  longer  chained  to 
the  mad  Americano.  By  this  time  Bean  had 
every  one  in  the  castle,  from  the  governor  to  the 
lowest  warder,  completely  terrorized,  for  they 
recognized  that  he  was  desperate  and  would  stop 
at  nothing.  He  was,  in  fact,  such  a  hard  case 
that  the  governor  of  Acapulco  wrote  to  the  vice 
roy  that  he  could  do  nothing  with  him  and  begged 
to  be  relieved  of  his  dangerous  prisoner.  The 
latter,  in  reply,  sent  an  order  for  his  removal  to 
the  Spanish  penal  settlement  in  the  Philippines. 
But  while  awaiting  a  vessel  the  revolt  led  by 
Morelos,  the  Mexican  patriot,  broke  out,  and 
a  rebel  army  advanced  on  Acapulco.  The  pris 
ons  of  New  Spain  had  been  emptied  to  obtain  re 
cruits  to  fill  the  Spanish  ranks,  and  Bean  was 
the  only  prisoner  left  in  the  citadel.  The  Spanish 
authorities,  desperately  in  need  of  men,  offered 
him  his  liberty  if  he  would  help  to  defend  the 
town.  Bean  agreed,  his  irons  were  knocked  off, 

24 


Adventurers  All 

he  was  given  a  gun,  and  became  a  soldier.  But 
he  felt  that  he  owed  no  loyalty  to  his  Spanish 
captors;  so,  when  an  opportunity  presented  itself 
a  few  weeks  later,  he  went  over  to  Morelos,  tak 
ing  with  him  a  number  of  the  garrison.  A  born 
soldier,  hard  as  nails,  amazingly  resourceful  and 
brave  to  the  point  of  rashness,  he  quickly  won 
the  confidence  and  friendship  of  the  patriot  leader, 
who  commissioned  him  a  colonel  in  the  Repub 
lican  army.  When  Morelos  left  Acapulco  to  con 
tinue  his  campaign  in  the  south,  he  turned  the 
command  of  the  besieging  forces  over  to  the  ex- 
convict,  who,  a  few  weeks  later,  carried  the  city 
by  storm.  It  must  have  been  a  proud  moment 
for  the  American  adventurer,  not  yet  thirty  years 
of  age,  when  he  stood  in  the  plaza  of  the  captured 
city  and  received  the  sword  of  the  governor  who 
had  treated  him  with  such  fiendish  cruelty.* 


*  In  1814  Bean  was  sent  by  General  Morelos,  then  president  of 
the  revolutionary  party  in  Mexico,  on  a  mission  to  the  United  States 
to  procure  aid  for  the  patriot  cause.  At  the  port  of  Nautla  he  found 
a  vessel  belonging  to  Lafitte,  which  conveyed  him  to  the  headquarters 
of  the  pirate  chief,  at  Barataria.  Upon  informing  Lafitte  of  his 
mission,  the  buccaneer  had  him  conveyed  to  New  Orleans,  where 
Bean  found  an  old  acquaintance  in  General  Andrew  Jackson,  upon 
whose  invitation  he  took  command  of  one  of  the  batteries  on  the 
8th  of  January  and  fought  by  the  side  of  Lafitte  in  that  battle. 
Colonel  Bean  eventually  rose  to  high  rank  under  the  Mexican  re 
public,  married  a  Mexican  heiress,  and  died  on  her  hacienda  near 
Jalapa  in  1846. 

25 


The  Road  to  Glory 

When  the  story  of  the  treatment  of  Nolan  and 
his  companions  trickled  back  to  the  settlements 
and  was  repeated  from  village  to  village  and  from 
house  to  house,  every  repetition  served  to  fan  the 
flame  of  hatred  of  everything  Spanish,  which  grew 
fiercer  and  fiercer  in  the  Southwest  as  the  years 
rolled  by.  From  the  horror  and  indignation 
aroused  along  the  frontier  by  the  treatment  of 
these  men,  whom  the  undiscerning  historians  have 
unjustly  described  as  filibusters,  sprang  that  move 
ment  which  ended,  a  quarter  of  a  century  later, 
in  freeing  Texas  forever  from  the  cruelties  of 
Latin  rule.  Thus  it  came  about  that  Nolan  and 
his  companions  did  not  suffer  in  vain. 

Though  during  the  years  immediately  follow 
ing  Nolan's  ill-fated  expedition  all  Mexico  was 
aflame  with  the  revolt  lighted  by  the  patriot  priest 
Hidalgo,  things  were  fairly  quiet  along  the  bor 
der.  But  this  was  not  to  last.  After  the  cap 
ture  and  execution  of  the  militant  priest  one  of 
his  followers,  Bernardo  Gutierrez  de  Lara,  after 
a  thrilling  flight  across  Texas,  found  refuge  in 
Natchez,  where  he  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Lieutenant  Augustus  Magee,  a  brilliant  young  of 
ficer  of  the  American  garrison.  Gutierrez  painted 
pictures  with  words  as  an  artist  does  with  the 
brush,  and  so  inspiring  were  the  scenes  his  ready 

26 


Adventurers  All 

tongue  depicted  that  they  fired  the  young  lieuten 
ant  with  an  ambition  to  aid  in  freeing  Mexico 
from  Spanish  rule.  Magee  was  of  a  daring  and 
romantic  disposition  and  accepted  without  ques 
tion  the  stories  told  him  by  Gutierrez.  His  plan 
seems  to  have  been  to  conquer  Texas  to  the  Rio 
Grande  and,  after  building  up  a  republican  state, 
to  apply  for  admission  to  the  Union.  Resigning 
his  commission,  he  threw  himself  heart  and  soul 
into  the  business  of  recruiting  an  expedition  from 
the  adventurers  who  made  New  Orleans — now 
become  an  American  city — their  headquarters 
and  from  the  freebooters  of  the  neutral  ground. 
A  call  to  these  men  to  join  the  "Republican  Army 
of  the  North"  and  receive  forty  dollars  a  month 
and  a  square  league  of  land  in  Texas  was  eagerly 
responded  to,  and  by  June,  1812,  Gutierrez  and 
Magee  had  recruited  half  a  thousand  daredevils 
who,  for  the  sake  of  adventure,  were  willing  to 
follow  their  leaders  anywhere.  Most  of  them 
were  "two-gun  men,"  which  means  that  they 
went  into  action  with  a  pistol  in  each  hand  and 
a  knife  between  the  teeth,  and  they  didn't  know 
the  name  of  fear.  In  order  to  secure  the  co 
operation  of  the  Mexican  population  of  Texas, 
Gutierrez  was  named  commander-in-chief  of  the 
expedition,  though  the  real  leader  was  Magee, 

27 


The  Road  to  Glory 

who  held  the  position  of  chief  of  staff,  an  Amer 
ican  frontiersman  named  Reuben  Kemper  being 
commissioned  major. 

In  the  beginning  everything  was  as  easy  as 
falling  down-stairs.  The  time  chosen  for  the  ven 
ture  was  peculiarly  propitious,  for  the  Spaniards 
had  their  hands  full  with  the  civil  war  in  Mexico, 
which  they  supposed  they  had  ended  with  the 
capture  and  execution  of  Hidalgo,  but  which  had 
broken  out  again  under  the  leadership  of  another 
priest,  named  Morelos.  As  a  result  of  the  demor 
alization  which  existed,  the  Americans  were  al 
most  unopposed  in  their  advance.  Nacogdoches 
fell  before  them,  and  so  did  the  fort  at  Spanish 
Bluff,  and  by  November,  1812,  they  had  raised 
the  republican  standard  over  La  Bahia,  or,  as  it 
is  known  to-day,  Goliad.  Three  days  later  Gov 
ernor  Salcedo — the  same  who  had  attacked  No 
lan's  party  a  dozen  years  before — marched  against 
the  town  with  fourteen  hundred  men.  Though 
the  Americans  were  outnumbered  more  than  two 
to  one,  they  did  not  wait  for  the  Spaniards  to 
attack  but  sallied  out  and  drove  them  back  in 
confusion.  Whereupon  the  Spaniards  sat  down 
without  the  town  and  prepared  to  conduct  a 
siege,  and  the  Americans  sat  down  within  and 
prepared  to  resist  it.  It  ended  in  a  peculiar  fash- 

28 


Adventurers  All 

ion.  During  a  three  days'  armistice  Salcedo  in 
vited  Magee  to  dine  with  him  in  the  Spanish 
camp,  and  the  American  commander  accepted. 
What  arguments  or  inducements  the  astute  Span 
iard  brought  to  bear  on  the  young  American  can 
only  be  conjectured,  but,  at  any  rate,  Magee 
agreed  to  surrender  the  town  on  condition  that 
all  of  his  men  should  be  sent  back  to  the  United 
States  in  safety.  To  this  condition  Salcedo  as 
sented.  Returning  to  the  town,  Magee  had  his 
men  paraded,  told  them  what  he  had  done,  and 
asked  all  who  approved  of  his  action  to  shoulder 
arms.  For  some  moments  after  he  had  finished 
they  stared  at  him  in  mingled  amazement,  in 
credulity,  and  suspicion.  It  was  unbelievable, 
unthinkable,  preposterous,  that  he,  the  idol  of 
the  army,  the  hero  of  a  dozen  engagements,  a 
product  of  the  great  officer  factory  at  West  Point, 
should  even  contemplate,  much  less  advocate, 
surrender.  Not  only  did  they  not  shoulder  arms, 
but  most  of  them,  to  emphasize  their  disapproval, 
brought  their  rifle  butts  crashing  to  the  ground. 
For  a  few  moments  Magee  stood  with  sunken 
head  and  downcast  eyes;  then  he  slowly  turned 
and  entered  his  tent.  An  hour  or  so  later  a  mes 
senger  under  a  flag  of  truce  brought  a  curt  note 
from  Salcedo  reminding  Magee  of  their  agree- 

29 


The  Road  to  Glory 

ment  and  demanding  to  know  why  he  had  not 
surrendered  the  town  as  he  had  promised.  The 
message  was  opened  by  Gutierrez,  who  ordered 
that  no  answer  should  be  sent,  whereupon  Sal- 
cedo  threw  his  entire  force  against  the  town  in 
an  attempt  to  carry  it  by  storm.  But  the  Amer 
icans,  though  sick  at  heart  at  the  action  of  their 
young  commander,  were  far  from  being  demor 
alized,  as  the  oncoming  Spaniards  quickly  found, 
for  as  they  reached  the  outer  line  of  intrench- 
ments  the  Americans  met  them  with  a  blast  of 
lead  which  wiped  out  their  leading  companies 
and  sent  the  balance  scampering  San  Antonio- 
ward.  Throughout  the  action  Magee  remained 
hidden  in  his  tent.  When  an  orderly  went  to 
summon  him  the  next  morning  he  found  the 
young  West  Pointer  stretched  upon  the  floor,  with 
a  pistol  in  his  hand  and  the  back  blown  out  of 
his  head. 

Though  Gutierrez  still  retained  the  nominal 
rank  of  general,  the  actual  command  of  "the 
Army  of  the  North"  now  devolved  upon  Major 
Reuben  Kemper,  a  gigantic  Virginian  who,  de 
spite  the  fact  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  Baptist 
preacher,  was  celebrated  from  one  end  of  the  fron 
tier  to  the  other  for  his  "eloquent  profanity. " 
Kemper  was  a  man  well  fitted  to  wield  authority 

30 


Adventurers  All 

on  such  an  expedition.  He  had  a  neck  like  a 
bull,  a  chest  like  a  barrel,  a  voice  like  a  bass 
drum,  and  it  was  said  that  even  the  mates  on  the 
Mississippi  River  boats  listened  with  admiration 
and  envy  to  his  swearing.  Nor  was  he  a  novice 
at  the  business  of  fighting  Spaniards,  for  a  dozen 
years  before  he  and  his  two  brothers  had  been 
concerned  in  a  desperate  attempt  to  free  Florida 
from  Spanish  rule;  in  1808  he  had  been  one  of 
a  party  of  Americans  who  had  attempted  to  cap 
ture  Baton  Rouge,  had  been  taken  prisoner,  sen 
tenced  to  death,  and  saved  by  the  intervention  of 
an  American  officer  on  the  very  morning  set  for 
his  execution;  and  the  following  year,  undeterred 
by  the  narrowness  of  his  escape,  he  had  made  a 
similar  attempt,  with  similar  unsuccess,  to  capture 
Mobile.  The  cruelties  he  had  seen  perpetrated 
by  the  Spaniards  had  so  worked  on  his  mind  that 
he  had  vowed  to  devote  the  rest  of  his  life  to 
ridding  North  America  of  Spanish  rule. 

Such,  then,  was  the  picturesque  figure  who  as 
sumed  command  of  "the  Army  of  the  North," 
now  consisting  of  eight  hundred  Americans,  one 
hundred  and  eighty  Mexicans,  and  three  hundred 
and  twenty-five  Indians,  and  led  it  against  the 
Spaniards,  twenty-five  hundred  strong  and  with 
several  pieces  of  artillery,  who  were  encamped 

31 


The  Road  to  Glory 

at  Resales,  near  San  Antonio.  As  soon  as  his 
scouts  reported  the  proximity  of  the  Spaniards, 
who  were  ambushed  in  the  dense  chaparral  which 
lined  the  road  along  which  the  Americans  were 
advancing,  Kemper  threw  his  force  into  battle 
formation,  ordering  his  men  to  advance  to  within 
thirty  paces  of  the  Spanish  line,  fire  three  rounds, 
load  the  fourth  time,  and  charge.  The  movement 
was  performed  in  as  perfect  order  as  though  the 
Americans  had  been  on  a  parade-ground  and  no 
enemy  within  a  hundred  miles.  Demoralized  by 
the  machine-like  precision  of  the  Americans'  ad 
vance  and  the  deadliness  of  the  volleys  poured 
into  them,  the  Spaniards  broke  and  ran,  Kemper's 
Indian  allies  remorselessly  pursuing  the  panic- 
stricken  fugitives  until  nightfall  put  an  end  to 
the  slaughter.  In  this  great  Texan  battle,  for 
any  mention  of  which  you  will  search  most  of  the 
histories  in  vain,  nearly  a  thousand  Spaniards 
were  killed  and  wounded.  The  Indians  saw  to 
it  that  there  were  few  prisoners. 

The  next  day  the  victorious  Americans  reached 
San  Antonio  and  sent  in  a  messenger,  under  a 
flag  of  truce,  demanding  the  unconditional  sur 
render  of  the  town  and  garrison.  Governor  Sal- 
cedo  sent  back  word  that  he  would  give  his  deci 
sion  in  the  morning.  "  Present  yourself  and  your 

32 


Adventurers  All 

staff  in  our  camp  at  once,"  Kemper  replied,  "or 
I  shall  storm  the  town."  (And  when  a  town  was 
carried  by  storm  it  was  understood  that  no  pris 
oners  would  be  taken.)  When  Salcedo  entered 
the  American  lines  he  was  met  by  Captain  Tay 
lor,  to  whom  he  offered  his  sword,  but  that  officer 
declined  to  accept  it  and  sent  him  to  Colonel 
Kemper.  On  offering  it  to  the  big  frontiersman, 
it  was  again  refused,  and  he  was  told  to  take  it 
to  General  Gutierrez,  who  was  the  ranking  officer 
of  the  expedition.  By  this  time  the  patience  of 
the  haughty  Spaniard  was  exhausted,  and,  plung 
ing  the  weapon  into  the  ground,  he  turned  his 
back  on  Gutierrez.  A  few  hours  later  the  Ameri 
cans  entered  San  Antonio  in  triumph,  released 
the  prisoners  in  the  local  jails,  and,  from  all  I 
can  gather,  took  pretty  much  everything  of  value 
on  which  they  could  lay  their  hands.  When 
Kemper  asked  his  Indian  allies  what  share  of  the 
loot  they  wanted,  they  replied  that  they  would 
be  quite  satisfied  with  two  dollars'  worth  of  ver 
milion. 

After  the  capture  of  San  Antonio,  General  Gu 
tierrez,  who,  though  he  had  been  content  to  let 
the  Americans  do  the  fighting,  now  that  he  was 
among  his  own  people  swelled  up  like  a  turkey 
gobbler,  announced  that  he  had  decided  to  send 

33 


The  Road  to  Glory 

the  Spanish  officers  who  had  been  captured  to 
New  Orleans,  where  they  would  be  held  as  hos 
tages  until  the  war  was  over.  To  this  suggestion 
the  Americans  readily  agreed,  and  that  evening 
the  governor  and  his  staff,  with  the  other  officers 
who  had  surrendered,  started  for  the  coast  under 
the  guard  of  a  company  of  Mexicans.  When  a 
mile  and  a  half  below  the  town,  on  the  east  bank 
of  the  San  Antonio  River,  the  captives  were 
halted,  stripped,  and  tied,  and  their  throats  cut 
from  ear  to  ear,  some  of  the  Mexicans  even  whet 
ting  their  knives  upon  the  soles  of  their  shoes  in 
the  presence  of  their  victims.  When  Kemper 
learned  of  this  butchery  of  defenseless  prisoners 
he  strode  up  to  Gutierrez  and,  catching  him  by 
the  throat,  held  him  at  arm's  length  and  shook 
him  as  a  terrier  does  a  rat,  meanwhile  ripping 
out  a  stream  of  invectives  that  would  have  seared 
a  thinner-skinned  man  as  effectually  as  a  brand 
ing-iron.  Then,  refusing  to  longer  serve  under  so 
barbarous  a  leader,  Kemper  resigned  his  commis 
sion  and,  followed  by  most  of  the  other  American 
officers  of  standing,  set  out  for  New  Orleans. 

Of  the  American  officers  who  remained  Cap 
tain  Perry  was  the  highest  in  rank  and  the  most 
able,  and  to  him  was  given  the  direction  of  the 
expedition,  Gutierrez,  for  reasons  of  policy,  still 

34 


Adventurers  All 

retaining  nominal  command.  With  the  departure 
of  Kemper  came  a  relaxation  in  the  iron  disci 
pline  which  he  had  maintained  and  the  troops, 
drunk  with  victory  and  believing  that  the  cam 
paign  was  all  over  but  the  shouting,  broke  loose 
in  every  form  of  dissipation.  While  in  this  state 
of  unpreparedness,  they  were  surprised  by  a  force 
of  three  thousand  Spaniards  under  General  Eli- 
sondo.  Instead  of  marching  directly  upon  San 
Antonio  and  capturing  it,  as  he  could  have  done 
in  view  of  the  demoralization  which  prevailed, 
Elisondo  made  the  mistake  of  intrenching  him 
self  in  the  graveyard  half  a  mile  without  the 
town.  But  in  the  face  of  the  enemy  the  disci 
pline  for  which  the  Americans  were  celebrated  re 
turned,  for  first,  last,  and  all  the  time  they  were 
fighters.  At  ten  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  June 
4  the  Americans,  marching  in  file,  moved  silently 
out  of  the  town.  In  the  most  profound  silence 
they  approached  the  Spanish  lines  until  they 
could  hear  the  voices  of  the  pickets;  then  they 
lay  down,  their  arms  beside  them,  and  waited  for 
the  coming  of  the  dawn.  Colonel  Perry  chose  the 
moment  when  the  Spaniards  were  assembled  at 
daybreak  for  matins  to  launch  his  attack.  Even 
then  no  orders  were  spoken,  the  signals  being 
passed  down  the  line  by  each  man  nudging  his 

35 


The  Road  to  Glory 

neighbor.  So  admirably  executed  were  Perry's 
orders  that  the  Americans,  moving  forward  with 
the  stealth  and  silence  of  panthers,  had  reached 
the  outer  line  of  the  enemy's  intrenchments,  had 
bayonetted  the  Spanish  sentries,  and  had  actu 
ally  hauled  down  the  Spanish  flag  and  replaced  it 
with  the  Republican  tricolor  before  their  presence 
was  discovered.  Though  taken  completely  by 
surprise,  the  Spaniards  rallied  and  drove  the 
Americans  from  the  works,  but  the  latter  reformed 
and  hurled  themselves  forward  in  a  smashing 
charge  which  drove  the  Spaniards  from  the  field, 
leaving  upward  of  a  thousand  dead,  wounded, 
and  prisoners  behind  them.  The  American  loss 
in  killed  and  wounded  was  something  under  a 
hundred. 

Returning  in  triumph  to  San  Antonio,  the 
Americans,  whose  position  was  now  so  firmly  es 
tablished  that  they  had  no  further  use  for  Gen 
eral  Gutierrez,  unceremoniously  dismissed  him, 
this  action,  doubtless,  being  taken  at  the  instance 
of  Colonel  Perry  and  his  fellow  officers,  who  feared 
further  treachery  and  dishonor  if  the  Mexican 
were  permitted  to  remain  in  command.  His  place 
was  taken  by  Don  Jose  Alvarez  Toledo,  a  distin 
guished  Cuban  who  had  formerly  been  a  member 
of  the  Spanish  Cortes  in  Mexico  but  had  been 

36 


Adventurers  All 

banished  on  account  of  his  republican  sympathies. 
A  few  weeks  after  General  Toledo  assumed  com 
mand  a  Spanish  force,  four  thousand  strong,  under 
General  Arredondo,  appeared  before  San  Antonio. 
Toledo  at  once  marched  out  to  meet  them.  His 
force  consisted  of  eight  hundred  and  fifty  Americans 
under  Colonel  Perry  and  about  twice  that  number 
of  Mexicans;  so  it  will  be  seen  that  the  Spaniards 
greatly  outnumbered  the  Republicans.  Throw 
ing  forward  a  line  of  skirmishers  for  the  purpose 
of  engaging  the  enemy,  General  Arredondo  am 
bushed  the  major  portion  of  his  force  behind 
earthworks  masked  by  the  dense  chaparral. 
The  Americans,  confident  of  victory,  dashed  for 
ward  with  their  customary  elany  whereupon  the 
Spanish  line,  in  obedience  to  Arredondo's  orders, 
sullenly  fell  back.  So  cleverly  did  the  Spaniards 
feign  retreat  that  it  was  not  until  the  Americans 
were  well  within  the  trap  that  had  been  set  for 
them  that  Toledo  recognized  his  peril.  Then  he 
frantically  ordered  his  buglers  to  sound  the  recall. 
One  column — that  composed  of  Mexicans — obeyed 
the  order  promptly,  but  the  other,  consisting  of 
Americans,  shouting,  "No,  we  never  retreat !" 
swept  forward  to  their  deaths.  Had  the  order 
to  retreat  never  been  given,  the  Americans,  not 
withstanding  the  disparity  of  numbers,  would 

37 


The  Road  to  Glory 

have  been  victorious,  but,  deprived  of  all  support 
and  raked  by  the  enemy's  cannon  and  musketry, 
even  the  prodigies  of  valor  they  performed  were 
unavailing  to  alter  the  result.  So  desperately  did 
those  American  adventurers  fight,  however,  that, 
as  some  one  has  remarked,  "they  made  Spanish 
the  language  of  hell."  When  their  rifles  were 
empty  they  used  their  pistols,  and  when  their 
pistols  were  empty  they  used  their  terrible  long 
hunting-knives,  ripping  and  stabbing  and  slash 
ing  with  those  vicious  weapons  until  they  went 
down  before  sheer  weight  of  numbers.  Some  of 
them,  grasping  their  empty  rifles  by  the  barrel, 
swung  them  round  their  heads  like  flails,  beating 
down  the  Spaniards  who  opposed  them  until  they 
were  surrounded  by  heaps  of  men  with  cracked 
and  shattered  skulls.  Others,  when  their  weapons 
broke,  sprang  at  their  enemies  with  their  naked 
hands  and  tore  out  their  throats  as  hounds  tear 
out  the  throat  of  a  deer.  Such  was  the  battle  of 
the  Medina,  fought  on  August  18,  1813.  Of  the 
eight  hundred  and  fifty  Americans  who  went  into 
action  only  ninety-three  came  out  alive.  If  the 
battle  itself  was  a  bloody  one,  its  aftermath  was 
even  more  so,  the  Spanish  cavalry  pursuing  and 
butchering  without  mercy  all  the  fugitives  they 
could  overtake.  At  Spanish  Bluff,  on  the  Trin- 

38 


Adventurers  All 

ity,  the  Spaniards  took  eighty  prisoners.  March 
ing  them  into  a  clump  of  timber,  they  dug  a  long, 
deep  trench  and,  setting  the  prisoners  on  its  edge, 
shot  them  in  groups  of  ten.  It  was  a  bloody, 
bloody  business.  That  our  histories  contain  al 
most  no  mention  of  the  Gachupin  War,  as  this 
campaign  was  known,  is  doubtless  due  to  the  fact 
that  during  the  same  period  there  was  a  war  in 
the  United  States  and  also  one  in  Mexico,  and  the 
public  mind  was  thus  drawn  away  from  the  events 
which  were  taking  place  in  Texas.  Indeed,  had 
it  not  been  for  the  war  between  the  United  States 
and  Great  Britain,  which  drew  into  its  vortex  the 
adventurous  spirits  of  the  Southwest,  Texas  would 
have  achieved  her  independence  a  dozen  years 
earlier  than  she  did. 

Toledo  and  Perry,  with  all  that  was  left  of  the 
"Army  of  the  North, "  escaped,  after  suffering 
fearful  hardships,  to  the  United  States,  where  they 
promptly  began  to  recruit  men  for  another  ven 
ture  into  the  beckoning  land  beyond  the  Sabine. 
Though  the  head  of  the  patriot  priest  Hidalgo 
had  been  displayed  by  the  Spanish  authorities 
on  the  walls  of  the  citadel  of  Guanajuato  as  "a 
warning  to  Mexicans  who  choose  to  revolt  against 
Spanish  rule,"  as  the  placard  attached  to  the 
grisly  trophy  read,  the  grim  object-lesson  had  not 

39 


The  Road  to  Glory 

deterred  another  priest,  Jose  Maria  Morelos,  from 
taking  up  the  struggle  for  Mexican  independence 
where  Hidalgo  had  laid  it  down.  In  order  to 
co-operate  with  this  new  champion  of  liberty, 
Toledo,  at  the  head  of  a  few  hundred  Americans, 
sailed  from  New  Orleans,  landed  on  the  Mexican 
coast  near  Vera  Cruz,  and  pushed  up-country  as 
far  as  El  Puente  del  Rey,  near  Jalapa,  where  he 
intrenched  himself  and  sat  down  to  await  the  ar 
rival  of  reinforcements  from  New  Orleans  under 
General  Jean  Joseph  Humbert. 

Humbert,  a  Frenchman  from  the  province  of 
Lorraine,  was  a  graduate  of  the  greatest  school 
for  fighters  the  world  has  ever  known:  the  armies 
of  Napoleon.  In  1789,  when  the  French  Revolu 
tion  deluged  France  with  blood,  he  was  a  mer 
chant  in  Rouvray.  Closing  his  shop,  he  ex 
changed  his  yardstick  for  a  sabre  and  went  to 
Paris  to  take  a  hand  in  the  overthrow  of  the 
monarchy,  for  he  was  a  red-hot  republican.  His 
gallantry  in  action  won  him  a  major-general's 
commission,  and  four  years  later  the  Directory 
promoted  him  to  the  rank  of  lieutenant-general 
and  gave  him  command  of  the  expedition  sent  to 
Ireland,  where  he  was  forced  to  surrender  to 
Lord  Cornwallis.  Napoleon,  who  knew  a  soldier 
as  far  as  he  could  see  one,  made  Humbert  a  gen- 

40 


Adventurers  All 

eral  of  division  and  second  in  command  of  the 
ill-fated  army  sent  to  Haiti.  But  Humbert's 
republican  convictions  did  not  jibe  with  the  im 
perialistic  ambitions  of  Napoleon,  and  the  former 
suddenly  decided  that  a  life  of  exile  in  America 
was  preferable  to  life  in  a  French  prison.  For  a 
time  he  supported  himself  by  teaching  in  New 
Orleans,  but  it  was  like  harnessing  a  war-horse 
to  a  plough;  so,  when  the  Mexican  junta  sought 
his  aid  in  1814,  the  veteran  fighter  raised  an  ex 
peditionary  force  of  nearly  a  thousand  men,  sailed 
across  the  Gulf,  landed  on  the  shores  of  Mexico, 
and  marched  up  to  join  Toledo  at  El  Puente  del 
Rey.  The  revolutionary  leader  Morelos,  who  was 
hard  pressed  by  the  Spaniards,  set  out  to  join 
Toledo  and  Humbert,  but  on  the  way  was  taken 
prisoner  and  died  with  his  back  to  a  stone  wall 
and  his  face  to  a  firing-party.  The  same  force 
which  ended  the  career  of  Morelos  continued  to 
El  Puente  del  Rey  and  attempted  to  cut  off  the 
retreat  of  Toledo  and  Humbert,  but  the  old  sol 
dier  of  Napoleon  succeeded  in  cutting  his  way 
through  them  and  in  1817,  dejected  and  discour 
aged,  landed  once  more  at  New  Orleans,  where 
he  spent  the  rest  of  his  days  teaching  in  a  French 
college,  and  his  nights,  no  doubt,  dreaming  of  his 
exploits  under  the  Napoleonic  eagles. 


The  Road  to  Glory 

The  same  year  Humbert  returned  to  New 
Orleans  another  soldier  of  the  empire,  General 
Baron  Charles  Francois  Antoine  Lallemand,  fol 
lowed  by  a  hundred  and  fifty  veterans  who  had 
seen  service  under  the  little  corporal,  set  out  from 
the  same  city  for  that  graveyard  of  ambitions, 
Mexico.  Baron  Lallemand  was  one  of  the  great 
soldiers  of  the  empire  and,  had  Napoleon  been  vic 
torious  at  Waterloo,  would  have  been  rewarded 
with  the  baton  of  a  marshal  of  France.  Enter 
ing  the  army  when  a  youngster  of  eighteen,  he 
followed  the  French  eagles  into  every  capital  of 
Europe,  fighting  his  way  up  the  ladder  of  promo 
tion,  round  by  round,  until,  upon  the  Emperor's 
return  from  Elba,  he  was  given  the  epaulets  of 
a  lieutenant-general  and  created  a  peer  of  France. 
He  commanded  the  artillery  of  the  Imperial 
Guard  at  Waterloo  and  after  that  disaster  was 
sent  by  the  Emperor  to  Captain  Maitland,  of 
the  British  navy,  to  negotiate  for  his  surrender. 
With  tears  streaming  down  his  cheeks,  Lallemand 
begged  that  he  might  be  permitted  to  accompany 
his  imperial  master  into  exile.  This  being  denied 
him,  he  refused  to  take  service  under  the  Bour 
bons  and,  coming  to  America,  attempted  to  found 
a  colony  of  French  political  refugees  in  Alabama, 
at  a  place  which,  in  memory  of  happier  days,  he 

42 


Adventurers  All 

named  Marengo.  The  experiment  proved  a  fail 
ure,  however;  so  in  1817  he  led  his  colonists  into 
Texas  and  attempted  to  establish  what  he  termed 
a  Champ  d'Asile  on  the  banks  of  the  Trinity 
River.  But  the  Spanish  authorities,  obsessed  with 
the  idea  that  every  foreigner  who  appeared  in 
Texas  was  plotting  against  them,  despatched  a 
force  against  Lallemand  and  his  colonists  and 
drove  them  out.  The  next  few  years  General  Lal 
lemand  spent  in  New  Orleans  devising  schemes  for 
effecting  the  escape  of  his  beloved  Emperor  from 
St.  Helena,  but  Napoleon's  death,  in  1821,  brought 
his  carefully  laid  plan  for  a  rescue  to  naught.  In 
1830,  upon  the  Bourbons  being  ejected  from 
France  for  good  and  all,  Lallemand,  to  whom 
the  Emperor  had  left  a  legacy  of  a  hundred  thou 
sand  francs,  returned  to  Paris.  His  civil  and 
military  honors  were  restored  by  Louis  Philippe, 
and  the  man  who  a  few  years  before  had  been 
pointed  out  on  the  streets  of  New  Orleans  as  a 
filibuster  and  an  adventurer  died  a  general  of 
division,  commander  of  the  Legion  of  Honor, 
military  governor  of  Corsica,  and  a  peer  of 
France. 

The  next  man  to  strike  a  blow  for  Texas  was 
Don  Luis  de  Aury.  De  Aury  was  a  native  of  New 
Granada,  as  the  present  Republic  of  Colombia  was 

43 


The  Road  to  Glory 

then  called,  and  had  played  a  brilliant  part  in  the 
struggle  for  freedom  of  Spain's  South  American 
colonies.  He  entered  the  navy  of  the  young  re 
public  as  a  lieutenant  in  1813.  Three  years  later 
he  was  appointed  commandant-general  of  the 
naval  forces  of  New  Granada,  stationed  at  Car 
tagena.  At  the  memorable  siege  of  that  city,  to 
his  generosity  and  intrepidity  hundreds  of  men, 
women,  and  children  owed  their  lives,  for  when 
the  Spanish  commander,  Morillo,  threatened  to 
butcher  every  person  found  alive  within  the  city 
walls  De  Aury  loaded  the  non-combatants  aboard 
his  three  small  vessels,  broke  through  the  Spanish 
squadron  of  thirty-five  ships  and  landed  his  pas 
sengers  in  safety.  For  this  heroic  exploit  he  was 
rewarded  with  the  rank  of  commodore,  given  the 
command  of  the  united  fleets  of  New  Granada, 
La  Plata,  Venezuela,  and  Mexico,  and  ordered  to 
sweep  Spanish  commerce  from  the  Gulf.  Learn 
ing  of  the  splendid  harbor  afforded  by  the  Bay  of 
Galveston,  on  the  coast  of  Texas,  he  determined  to 
occupy  it  and  use  it  as  a  base  of  operations  against 
the  Spanish.  Accompanied  by  Don  Jose  Herrera, 
the  agent  of  the  Mexican  revolutionists  in  the 
United  States,  De  Aury  landed  on  Galveston  Is 
land  in  September,  1816.  A  meeting  was  held,  a 
government  organized,  the  Republican  flag  raised, 

44 


Adventurers  All 

Galveston  was  declared  a  part  of  the  Mexican 
Republic,  and  De  Aury  was  chosen  civil  and  mili 
tary  governor  of  Texas  and  Galveston  Island. 

Here  he  was  shortly  joined  by  two  other  ad 
venturers:  our  old  friend,  Colonel  Perry,  who  had 
escaped  to  the  United  States  after  the  disaster  of 
the  Medina,  and  Francisco  Xavier  Mina,  a  sol 
dier  of  fortune  from  Navarre.  Mina's  parents, 
who  were  peasant  farmers,  had  destined  him  for 
the  law,  but  when  Napoleon  invaded  Spain,  young 
Mina  threw  away  his  law  books,  raised  a  band  of 
guerillas,  and  harassed  the  invaders  until  his  name 
became  a  terror  to  the  French.  He  was  captured 
in  1812  and,  after  several  years  in  a  French  prison, 
went  to  England,  where  he  made  the  acquaintance 
of  a  number  of  Mexican  political  exiles,  who  in 
duced  him  to  take  a  hand  in  freeing  their  native 
country.  In  September,  1816,  Mina's  expedition, 
consisting  of  two  hundred  infantry  and  a  battery 
of  artillery,  sailed  from  Baltimore  for  Galveston, 
where  he  found  De  Aury  with  some  four  hundred 
well-drilled  men  and  Colonel  Perry  with  a  hun 
dred  more.  In  March,  1817,  the  three  com 
manders  sailed  for  the  mouth  of  the  Rio  San- 
tander,  fifty  miles  up  the  Mexican  coast  from 
Tampico,  and  disembarked  their  forces  at  the 
river  bar.  The  town  of  Soto  la  Marina,  sixty 

45 


The  Road  to  Glory 

miles  from  the  river's  mouth,  fell  without  opposi 
tion,  and  with  its  fall  the  leaders  parted  company. 
De  Aury  returned  to  Galveston,  but,  finding  the 
pirate  Lafitte  in  possession,  sailed  away  in  search 
of  pastures  new.  Mina,  ambitious  for  further 
conquests,  marched  into  the  interior,  capturing 
Valle  de  Mais,  Peotillos,  Real  de  Rinos,  and  Vena- 
dito  in  rapid  succession.  At  Venadito,  however, 
his  streak  of  good  fortune  ended  as  suddenly  as 
it  had  begun,  for  while  his  men  were  scattered  in 
search  of  plunder  a  Spanish  force  recaptured  the 
town  and  made  Mina  a  prisoner.  So  relieved  was 
the  Spanish  Government  at  receiving  word  of  his 
capture  and  execution  that  it  ordered  the  church- 
bells  to  be  rung  in  every  town  in  Mexico  and  made 
the  viceroy  a  count. 

When  Colonel  Perry  learned  of  Mina's  plan  for 
marching  into  the  interior  with  the  small  force  at 
his  disposal,  he  flatly  refused  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  so  harebrained  a  business  and,  with  fifty 
of  his  men,  started  up  the  coast  in  an  attempt 
to  make  his  way  back  to  the  United  States.  As 
the  disastrous  retreat  began  in  May,  when  water 
was  scarce  and  the  heat  in  the  swampy  lowlands 
was  almost  unbearable,  they  suffered  terribly.  Just 
as  the  little  band  of  adventurers  reached  the  bor 
ders  of  Texas  and  were  congratulating  themselves 


Adventurers  All 

on  having  all  but  won  to  safety,  a  party  of  two 
hundred  Spanish  cavalry  suddenly  appeared. 
Perry,  throwing  his  men  into  line  of  battle,  re 
ceived  the  onslaught  of  the  lancers  with  a  volley 
which  checked  them  in  mid-career  and  would 
doubtless  have  ended  the  contest  then  and  there 
had  not  the  garrison  of  the  near-by  town  sallied 
out  and  taken  the  Americans  in  the  rear.  Clothed 
in  rags,  scorched  by  the  sun,  parched  from  thirst, 
half  starved,  surrounded  by  an  overwhelming 
foe,  gallantly  did  these  desperate  men  sustain 
their  reputation  for  valor.  Again  and  again  the 
lancers  swept  down  upon  them,  again  and  again 
the  garrison  attacked  them  in  the  rear,  but  al 
ways  from  the  thinning  line  of  heroes  spat  a  storm 
of  lead  so  deadly  that  the  Spaniards  could  not 
stand  before  it.  Blackened  with  smoke  and  pow 
der,  fainting  from  hunger  and  exhaustion,  bleed 
ing  from  innumerable  wounds,  the  adventurers 
fought  like  men  who  welcomed  death.  The  sun 
had  disappeared;  the  shadows  of  night  were 
gathering  thick  upon  the  plain;  but  still  a  hand 
ful  of  powder-grimed,  blood-streaked  men,  stand 
ing  back  to  back,  amid  a  ring  of  dead  and  dying, 
held  off  the  enemy.  As  the  darkness  deepened, 
a  single  gallant  figure  still  waved  a  defiant  sword: 
it  was  Perry,  who,  true  to  the  filibusters'  motto 

47 


The  Road  to  Glory 

that   "Americans   never   surrender,"   fell   by   his 
own  hand. 

Probably  the  most  remarkable  of  this  long  list 
of  adventurers  was  the  Jean  Lafitte  whom  De 
Aury  found  in  possession  of  Galveston.  A  French 
man  by  birth  and  an  American  by  adoption, 
he  and  his  brother  Pierre  had,  during  the 
early  years  of  the  century,  established  on  Bara- 
taria  Island,  near  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi, 
what  was  virtually  a  pirate  kingdom,  where  they 
drove  a  thriving  trade  with  the  planters  along 
the  upper  river  and  the  merchants  of  New  Or 
leans  in  smuggled  slaves  and  merchandise.  Al 
though  both  the  State  and  federal  authorities  had 
made  repeated  attempts  to  dislodge  them,  the 
Lafittes  were  at  the  height  of  their  prosperity 
when  the  second  war  with  England  began.  When 
the  British  armada  destined  for  the  conquest  of 
Louisiana  arrived  off  the  Mississippi,  late  in  1814, 
an  officer  was  sent  to  Jean  Lafitte  offering  him 
fifty  thousand  dollars  and  a  captain's  commission 
in  the  royal  navy  if  he  would  co-operate  with  the 
British  in  the  capture  of  New  Orleans.  Though 
Governor  Claiborne,  of  Louisiana,  had  set  a  price 
on  his  head,  Lafitte,  who  was,  it  seemed,  a  pa 
triot  first  and  a  pirate  afterward,  hastened  up  the 
river  to  New  Orleans,  warned  the  governor  of  the 

48 


Adventurers  All 

approach  of  the  British  fleet,  and  offered  his  ser 
vices  and  those  of  his  men  to  Andrew  Jackson  for 
the  defense  of  the  city.  His  offer  was  accepted 
in  the  spirit  in  which  it  was  made,  and  Lafitte 
and  his  red-shirted  buccaneers  played  no  small 
part  in  winning  the  famous  victory.  They  were 
mentioned  in  despatches  by  Jackson,  thanked  for 
their  services  by  the  President  and  pardoned,  and 
settled  down  for  a  time  to  a  lawful  and  humdrum 
existence.  But  for  such  men  a  life  of  ease  and 
safety  held  no  attractions;  so,  about  the  time  that 
De  Aury's  squadron  sailed  for  Soto  la  Marina, 
Lafitte,  with  half-a-dozen  vessels,  dropped  casu 
ally  into  the  harbor  of  Galveston  and,  as  the 
place  suited  him,  coolly  took  possession. 

By  the  close  of  1817  the  followers  of  Lafitte  on 
Galveston  Island  had  increased  to  upward  of  a 
thousand  men.  They  were  of  all  nations  and  all 
languages — fugitives  from  justice  and  fugitives 
from  oppression.  Those  of  them  who  had  wives 
brought  them  to  the  settlement  at  Galveston,  and 
those  who  had  no  wives  brought  their  mistresses, 
so  that  the  society  of  the  place,  whatever  may  be 
said  of  its  morals,  began  to  assume  an  air  of  per 
manency.  On  the  site  of  the  hut  occupied  by 
the  late  governor,  De  Aury,  Lafitte  erected  a  pre 
tentious  house  and  built  a  fort;  other  buildings 

49 


The  Road  to  Glory 

sprang  up,  among  them  a  "Yankee"  boarding- 
house,  and,  to  complete  the  establishment,  a  small 
arsenal  and  dockyard  were  constructed.  To  lend 
an  air  of  respectability  to  his  enterprise,  Lafitte 
obtained  privateering  commissions  from  several 
of  the  revolted  colonies  of  Spain,  and  for  several 
years  his  cruisers,  first  under  one  flag  and  then 
under  another,  conducted  operations  in  the  Gulf 
which  smacked  considerably  more  of  piracy  than 
of  privateering.  In  1819  Lafitte  was  taken  into 
the  service  of  the  Republican  party  in  Mexico, 
Galveston  was  officially  made  a  port  of  entry,  and 
he  was  appointed  governor  of  the  island. 

By  the  terms  of  the  treaty  whereby  Spain,  in 
1819,  sold  Florida  to  the  United  States,  the  lat 
ter  agreed  to  accept  the  Sabine  as  its  western 
boundary  and  make  no  further  claims  to  Texas. 
Though  this  treaty  aroused  the  most  profound 
indignation  throughout  the  Southwest,  nowhere 
did  it  rise  so  high  as  in  the  town  of  Natchez. 
From  Natchez  had  gone  out  each  of  the  expedi 
tions  which,  since  the  days  of  Philip  Nolan,  had 
hammered  against  the  Spanish  barriers.  To  it 
had  returned  every  leader  who  had  escaped  death 
on  the  battle-field  or  before  a  firing-party.  In  it, 
as  a  great  river  town  enjoying  a  vast  trade  with 
the  interior,  was  gathered  the  most  reckless,  law- 

5° 


Adventurers  All 

less,  enterprising  population — flatboatmen,  steam- 
boatmen,  frontiersmen — to  be  found  in  all  the 
Southwest.  So,  when  Doctor  James  Long,  an 
army  surgeon  who  had  served  under  Jackson  at 
New  Orleans,  called  for  recruits  to  make  one  more 
attempt  to  free  Texas,  he  did  not  call  in  vain. 
Early  in  June  Long  set  out  from  Natchez  with 
only  seventy-five  men,  but  no  sooner  had  he 
crossed  the  Sabine  and  entered  Texas  than  the 
survivors  of  former  expeditions  hastened  to  join 
him,  so  that  when  Nacogdoches  was  reached  he 
had  behind  him  upward  of  three  hundred  men: 
veterans  who  had  seen  service  under  Nolan  and 
Magee,  and  Kemper,  and  Gutierrez,  and  Toledo, 
and  Humbert,  and  Perry,  and  Mina,  and  De  Aury. 
At  Nacogdoches  Long  established  a  provisional 
government,  a  supreme  council  was  elected,  and 
Texas  was  proclaimed  a  free  and  independent 
republic.  Realizing,  however,  that  he  could  not 
hope  to  hold  the  territory  thus  easily  occupied 
for  any  length  of  time  unaided,  Long  despatched 
a  commission  to  Galveston  to  ask  the  co-opera 
tion  of  Lafitte.  Though  the  pirate  chieftain  re 
ceived  the  commissioners  with  marked  courtesy 
and  entertained  them  at  the  "  Red  House,"  as  his 
residence  was  called,  with  the  lavish  hospitality 
for  which  he  was  noted,  he  told  them  bluntly 


The  Road  to  Glory 

that,  though  Doctor  Long  had  his  best  wishes  for 
success,  the  fate  of  Nolan  and  Perry  and  Mina 
and  a  host  of  others  ought  to  convince  him  how 
hopeless  it  was  to  wage  war  against  Spain  with 
so  insignificant  a  force.  Upon  receiving  this  an 
swer,  Doctor  Long,  believing  that  a  personal  ap 
plication  to  the  buccaneer  might  meet  with  bet 
ter  success,  himself  set  out  for  Galveston.  As 
luck  would  have  it,  he  reached  there  on  the  same 
day  that  the  American  warship  Enterprise  dropped 
anchor  in  the  harbor  and  its  commander,  Lieu 
tenant  Kearney,  informed  Lafitte  that  he  had  im 
perative  orders  from  Washington  to  break  up  the 
establishment  at  Galveston.  There  was  nothing 
left  for  Lafitte  but  to  obey,  and  a  few  days  later 
the  rising  tide  carried  outside  Galveston  bar  the 
Pride  and  the  other  vessels  comprising  the  fleet 
of  the  last  of  the  buccaneers,  who  abandoned  the 
shores  of  Texas  forever.* 

Doctor  Long,  thoroughly  discouraged,  returned 
to  Nacogdoches  to  find  a  Spanish  army  close  at 
hand  and  his  own  forces  completely  demoralized. 
Surrounded  and  outnumbered,  resistance  was  use 
less  and  he  surrendered.  Though  Spanish  do- 


*  A  full  account  of  the  life  and  exploits  of  Jean  Lafitte  will  be 
found  under  "The  Pirate  Who  Turned  Patriot,"  in  Mr.  Powell's 
"Gentlemen  Rovers." 

52 


Adventurers  All 

minion  in  Mexico  was  now  at  an  end,  Doctor 
Long  and  a  number  of  his  companions  were  sent 
to  the  capital,  where  for  several  months  he  was 
held  a  prisoner,  the  vigorous  representations  of 
the  American  minister  finally  resulting  in  his  re 
lease.  The  Mexicans  had  no  more  intention  than 
the  Spaniards,  however,  of  permitting  Texas  to 
achieve  independence,  which,  doubtless,  accounts 
for  the  fact  that  Doctor  Long,  who  was  known 
as  a  champion  of  Texan  liberty,  was  assassinated 
by  a  soldier  in  the  streets  of  the  capital  a  few 
days  after  his  release  from  prison.  But  he  and 
the  long  line  of  adventurers  who  preceded  him 
did  not  fight  and  die  in  vain,  for  they  paved  the 
way  for  the  Austins  and  Sam  Houston,  the  final 
liberators  of  Texas,  who,  a  few  years  later,  crossed 
the  Sabine  and  completed  the  work  that  Nolan, 
Magee,  Kemper,  Gutierrez,  Toledo,  Humbert, 
Perry,  Mina,  De  Aury,  and  Long  had  begun. 
As  for  Lafitte,  the  most  picturesque  adventurer 
of  them  all,  he  sailed  away  from  Galveston  and, 
following  the  example  of  that  long  line  of  buc 
caneers  of  whom  he  was  the  last,  spent  his  latter 
years  in  harrying  the  commerce  of  the  Dons  upon 
the  Spanish  main.  Along  the  palm-fringed  Gulf 
coast  his  memory  still  survives,  and  at  night  the 
superstitious  sailors  sometimes  claim  to  see  the 

53 


The  Road  to  Glory 

ghostly  spars  of  his  rakish  craft  and  to  hear, 
borne  by  the  night  breeze,  the  rumble  of  his  dis 
tant  cannonading. 

"The  palmetto  leaves  are  whispering,  while  the  gentle 

trade-winds  blow, 
And  the  soothing  Southern  zephyrs  are  sighing  soft 

and  low, 
As   a   silvery   moonlight   glistens,   and   the   droning 

fireflies  glow, 

Comes  a  voice  from  out  the  cypress, 
'Lights  out!    Lafitte!     Heave  ho!'" 


54 


WHEN  WE  SMASHED  THE  PROPHET'S 
POWER 


WHEN  WE  SMASHED  THE  PROPHET'S 
POWER 

IT  is  a  curious  and  interesting  fact  that,  just  as 
in  the  year  1754  a  collision  between  French 
and  English  scouting  parties  on  the  banks  of  the 
Youghiogheny  River,  deep  in  the  American  wil 
derness,  began  a  war  that  changed  the  map  of 
Europe,  so  in  1811  a  battle  on  the  banks  of  the 
Wabash  between  Americans  and  Indians  started 
an  avalanche  which  ended  by  crushing  Napoleon. 
The  nineteenth  century  was  still  in  its  swad 
dling-clothes  at  the  time  this  story  opens;  the  war 
of  the  Revolution  had  been  over  barely  a  quarter 
of  a  century,  and  a  second  war  with  England  was 
shortly  to  begin.  Though  the  borders  of  the 
United  States  nominally  extended  to  the  Rockies, 
the  banks  of  the  Mississippi  really  marked  the 
outermost  picket-line  of  civilization.  Beyond  that 
lay  a  vast  and  virgin  wilderness,  inconceivably 
rich  in  minerals,  game,  and  timber,  but  still  in 
the  power  of  more  or  less  hostile  tribes  of  Indians. 
Up  to  1800  the  whole  of  that  region  lying  beyond 
the  Ohio,  including  the  present  States  of  Indiana, 

57 


The  Road  to  Glory 

Illinois,  Wisconsin,  Michigan,  Iowa,  and  Missouri, 
was  officially  designated  as  the  Northwest  Terri 
tory,  but  in  that  year  the  northern  half  of  this 
region  was  organized  as  the  Indian  Territory,  or, 
as  it  came  to  be  known  in  time,  the  Territory  of 
Indiana. 

The  governor  of  this  great  province  was  a 
young  man  named  William  Henry  Harrison. 
This  youth — he  was  only  twenty-seven  at  the 
time  of  his  appointment — was  invested  with  one 
of  the  most  extraordinary  commissions  ever  is 
sued  by  our  government.  In  addition  to  being  the 
governor  of  a  Territory  whose  area  was  greater 
than  that  of  the  German  Empire,  he  was  com- 
mander-in-chief  of  the  Territorial  militia,  Indian 
agent,  land  commissioner,  and  sole  lawgiver. 
He  had  the  power  to  adopt  from  the  statutes 
upon  the  books  of  any  of  the  States  any  and 
every  law  which  he  deemed  applicable  to  the 
needs  of  the  Territory.  He  appointed  all  the 
judges  and  other  civil  officials  and  all  military 
officers  below  the  rank  of  general.  He  possessed 
and  exercised  the  authority  to  divide  the  Terri 
tory  into  counties  and  townships.  He  held  the 
prerogative  of  pardon.  His  decision  as  to  the 
validity  of  existing  land  grants,  many  of  which 
were  technically  worthless,  was  final,  and  his  sig- 

58 


The  Prophet's  Power 

nature  upon  a  title  was  a  remedy  for  all  defects. 
As  the  representative  of  the  United  States  in  its 
relations  with  the  Indians,  he  held  the  power 
to  negotiate  treaties  and  to  make  treaty  pay 
ments. 

Governor  Harrison  was  admittedly  the  highest 
authority  on  the  northwestern  Indians.  He  kept 
his  fingers  constantly  on  the  pulse  of  Indian  senti 
ment  and  opinion  and  often  said  that  he  could 
forecast  by  the  conduct  of  his  Indians,  as  a  mari 
ner  forecasts  the  weather  by  the  aid  of  a  barom 
eter,  the  chances  of  war  and  peace  for  the  United 
States  so  far  as  they  were  controlled  by  the  cabi 
net  in  London.  The  remark,  though  curious,  was 
not  surprising.  Uneasiness  would  naturally  be 
greatest  in  regions  where  the  greatest  irritation 
existed  and  which  were  under  the  least  control. 
Such  a  danger  spot  was  the  Territory  of  Indiana. 
It  occupied  a  remote  and  perilous  position,  for 
northward  and  westward  the  Indian  country 
stretched  to  the  Great  Lakes  and  the  Mississippi, 
unbroken  save  by  the  military  posts  at  Fort 
Wayne  and  Fort  Dearborn  (now  Chicago)  and  a 
considerable  settlement  of  whites  in  the  vicinity 
of  Detroit.  Some  five  thousand  Indian  warriors 
held  this  vast  region  and  were  abundantly  able 
to  expel  every  white  man  from  Indiana  if  their 

59 


The  Road  to  Glory 

organization  had  been  as  strong  as  their  numbers. 
And  the  whites  were  no  less  eager  to  expel  the 
Indians. 

No  acid  ever  ate  more  resistlessly  into  a  vege 
table  substance  than  the  white  man  acted  on  the 
Indian.  As  the  line  of  American  settlements  ap 
proached  the  nearest  Indian  tribes  shrunk  and 
withered  away.  The  most  serious  of  the  evils 
which  attended  the  contact  of  the  two  hostile 
races  was  the  introduction  by  the  whites  of  whiskey 
among  the  Indians.  "I  can  tell  at  once,"  wrote 
Harrison  about  this  time,  "upon  looking  at  an 
Indian  whom  I  may  chance  to  meet,  whether  he 
belongs  to  a  neighboring  or  a  more  distant  tribe. 
The  latter  is  generally  well-clothed,  healthy,  and 
vigorous;  the  former  half-naked,  filthy,  and  en 
feebled  by  intoxication."  Another  cause  of  In 
dian  resentment  was  that  the  white  man,  though 
not  permitted  to  settle  beyond  the  Indian  border, 
could  not  be  prevented  from  trespassing  far  and 
wide  on  Indian  territory  in  quest  of  game.  This 
practice  of  hunting  on  Indian  lands  in  direct  vio 
lation  of  law  and  of  existing  treaties  had,  indeed, 
grown  into  a  monstrous  abuse  and  did  more  than 
anything  else,  perhaps,  to  fan  the  flame  of  In 
dian  hostility  toward  the  whites.  Every  autumn 
great  numbers  of  Kentucky  settlers  used  to  cross 

60 


The  Prophet's  Power 

the  Ohio  River  into  the  Indian  country  to  hunt 
deer,  bear,  and  buffalo  for  their  skins,  which  they 
had  no  more  right  to  take  than  they  had  to  cross 
the  Alleghanies  and  shoot  the  cows  and  sheep 
belonging  to  the  Pennsylvania  farmers.  As  a  re 
sult  of  this  systematic  slaughter  of  the  game, 
many  parts  of  the  Northwest  Territory  became 
worthless  to  the  Indians  as  hunting-grounds,  and 
the  tribes  that  owned  them  were  forced  either  to 
sell  them  to  the  government  for  supplies  or  for 
an  annuity  or  to  remove  elsewhere.  /The  In 
dians  had  still  another  cause  for  complaint.  Ac 
cording  to  the  terms  of  the  treaties,  if  an  Indian 
killed  a  white  man  the  tribe  was  bound  to  sur 
render  the  murderer  for  trial  in  an  American 
court;  while,  if  a  white  man  killed  an  Indian,  the 
murderer  was  also  to  be  tried  by  a  white  jury. 
The  Indians  surrendered  their  murderers,  and  the 
white  juries  at  Vincennes  unhesitatingly  hung 
them;  but,  though  Harrison  reported  innumerable 
cases  of  wanton  and  atrocious  murders  of  Indians 
by  white  men,  no  white  man  was  ever  convicted 
by  a  territorial  jury  for  these  crimes.  So  far  as 
the  white  man  was  concerned,  it  was  a  case  of 
"Heads  I  win,  tails  you  lose."  The  opinion  that 
prevailed  along  the  frontier  was  expressed  in  the 
frequent  assertion  that  "the  only  good  Indian  is 

61 


The  Road  to  Glory 

a  dead  one,"  and  in  the  face  of  such  public  opin 
ion  there  was  no  chance  of  the  Indian  getting  a 
square  deal. 

As  a  result  of  these  outrages  and  injustices,  the 
thoughts  of  the  Indians  turned  longingly  toward 
the  days  when  this  region  was  held  by  France. 
Had  Napoleon  carried  out  his  Louisiana  scheme 
of  1802,  there  is  no  possible  doubt  that  he  would 
have  received  the  active  support  of  every  Indian 
tribe  from  the  Gulf  to  the  Great  Lakes;  his 
orders  would  have  been  obeyed  from  Tallahassee 
to  Detroit.  When  affairs  in  Europe  compelled  him 
to  abandon  his  contemplated  American  campaign, 
the  Indians  turned  to  the  British  for  sympathy 
and  assistance — and  the  British  were  only  too 
glad  to  extend  them  a  friendly  hand.  From 
Maiden,  opposite  Detroit,  the  British  traders 
loaded  the  American  Indians  witrTgifts  and  weap 
ons;  the  governor-general  of  Canada  intrigued 
with  the  more  powerful  chieftains  and  assured 
himself  of  their  support  in  the  war  which  was  ap 
proaching;  British  emissaries  circulated  among  the 
tribes,  and  by  specious  arguments  inflamed  their 
hostility  toward  Americans.  Indeed,  it  is  no  ex 
aggeration  to  say  that,  had  our  people  and  our 
government  treated  the  Indians  with  the  most 
elementary  justice  and  honesty,  they  would  have 

62 


The  Prophet's  Power 

had  their  support  in  the  War  of  1812,  the  whole 
course  of  that  disastrous  war  would  probably  have 
been  changed,  and  the  Canadian  boundary  would, 
in  all  likelihood,  have  been  pushed  far  to  the 
northward.  By  their  persistent  ill  treatment  of 
the  Indians  the  Americans  received  what  they 
had  every  reason  to  expect  and  what  they  fully 
deserved. 

During  the  first  decade  of  the  nineteenth  cen 
tury  there  was  really  no  perfect  peace  with  any 
of  the  Indian  tribes  west  of  the  Ohio,  and  Harri 
son's  abilities  as  a  soldier  and  a  diplomatist  were 
taxed  to  the  utmost  to  prevent  the  skirmish-line, 
as  the  chain  of  settlements  and  trading-posts 
which  marked  our  westernmost  frontier  might  well 
be  called,  from  being  turned  into  a  battle-ground. 
Harrison's  most  formidable  opponent  in  his  task 
of  civilizing  the  West  was  the  Shawnee  chief 
tain  Tecumseh,  perhaps  the  most  remarkable  of 
American  Indians.  Though  not  a  chieftain  by 
birth,  Tecumseh  had  risen  by  the  strength  of  his 
personality  and  his  powers  as  an  orator  to  a  po 
sition  of  altogether  extraordinary  influence  and 
power  among  his  people.  So  great  was  his  repu 
tation  for  bravery  in  battle  and  wisdom  in  coun 
cil  that  by  1809  he  had  attained  the  unique  dis 
tinction  of  being,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  the 

63 


The  Road  to  Glory 

political  leader  of  all  the  Indians  between  the 
Ohio  and  the  Mississippi. 

With  the  vision  of  a  prophet,  Tecumseh  saw  that 
if  this  immense  territory  was  once  opened  to  set 
tlement  by  whites  the  game  upon  which  the  In 
dians  had  to  depend  for  sustenance  must  soon  be 
exterminated  and  that  in  a  few  years  his  people 
would  have  to  move  to  strange  and  distant  hunt 
ing-grounds.  Taking  this  as  his  text,  he  preached 
a  gospel  of  armed  resistance  to  the  white  man's 
encroachments  at  every  tribal  council-fire  from 
the  land  of  the  Chippewas  to  the  country  of  the 
Creeks.  And  he  had  good  reasons  for  his  warn 
ings,  for  the  Indians  were  being  stripped  of  their 
lands  in  shameless  fashion.  In  fact,  the  Indian 
agents  were  deliberately  ordered  to  tempt  the 
tribal  chiefs  into  debt  in  order  to  oblige  them  to 
sell  the  tribal  lands,  which  did  not  belong  to 
them,  but  to  their  tribes.  The  callousness  of  the 
government's  Indian  policy  was  frankly  expressed 
by  President  Jefferson  in  a  letter  to  Harrison  in 
1803: 

"To  promote  this  disposition  to  exchange  lands 
which  they  have  to  spare  and  we  want  for  neces 
saries  which  we  have  to  spare  and  they  want  we 
shall  push  our  trading  houses  and  be  glad  to  see 
the  good  and  influential  individuals  among  them 


The  Prophet's  Power 

in  debt;  because  we  observe  that  when  these 
debts  get  beyond  what  the  individuals  can  pay 
they  become  willing  to  lop  them  off  by  a  cession 
of  lands." 

The  tone  of  cynicism,  inhumanity,  and  greed 
which  characterizes  that  letter  makes  it  sound 
more  like  the  utterance  of  a  usurious  money 
lender  than  an  official  communication  to  a  Terri 
torial  governor  from  the  President  of  the  United 
States.  It  is  hard  to  believe  that  it  was  penned 
by  the  same  hand  which  wrote  the  Declaration  of 
Independence. 

Jefferson's  Indian  policy  was  continued  by  his 
successor,  for  in  1809  Governor  Harrison,  acting 
under  instructions  from  President  Madison,  con 
cluded  a  treaty  with  the  chiefs  of  the  Delaware, 
Pottawatomie,  Miami,  Eel  River,  Wea,  and  Kick- 
apoo  tribes,  whereby,  in  consideration  of  eight 
thousand  two  hundred  dollars  paid  down  and  an 
nuities  amounting  to  two  thousand  three  hundred 
and  fifty  more,  he  obtained  the  cession  of  three 
million  acres  of  land.  Think  of  it,  my  friends ! 
Perhaps  the  most  fertile  land  in  all  the  world 
sold  at  the  rate  of  three  acres  for  a  cent!  It  was 
like  stealing  candy  from  a  child.  Do  you  won 
der  that  Tecumseh  declared  the  treaty  void,  de 
nounced  as  traitors  to  their  race  the  chiefs  who 

65 


The  Road  to  Glory 

made  it,  and  asserted  that  it  was  not  in  the 
power  of  individual  tribes  to  deed  away  the  com 
mon  domain  ?  This  was  the  basis  of  Tecumseh's 
scheme  for  a  general  federation  of  all  the  Indians, 
which,  had  it  not  been  smashed  in  its  early  stages, 
would  have  drenched  our  frontiers  with  blood  and 
would  have  set  back  the  civilization  of  the  West 
a  quarter  of  a  century. 

Throughout  his  campaign  of  proselytism  Te- 
cumseh  was  ably  seconded  by  one  of  his  triplet 
brothers,  Elkswatana,  known  among  the  Indians 
as  "the  prophet."  The  latter,  profiting  by  the 
credulity  and  superstition  of  the  red  men,  ob 
tained  a  great  reputation  as  a  medicine-man  and 
seer  by  means  of  his  charms,  incantations,  and 
pretended  visions  of  the  Great  Spirit,  thus  mak 
ing  himself  a  most  valuable  ally  of  Tecumseh  in 
the  great  conspiracy  which  the  latter  was  secretly 
hatching.  Meanwhile  the  relations  between  the 
Americans  and  their  neighbors  across  the  Ca 
nadian  border  had  become  strained  almost  to  the 
breaking  point,  the  situation  being  aggravated  by 
the  fact  that  the  British  were  secretly  encourag 
ing  Tecumseh  in  spreading  his  propaganda  of  re 
sistance  to  the  United  States  and  were  covertly 
supplying  the  Indians  with  arms  and  ammuni 
tion  for  the  purpose.  The  winter  of  1809-10, 

66 


The  Prophet's  Power 

therefore,  was  marked  by  Indian  outrages  along 
the  whole  length  of  the  frontier.  And  there  were 
other  agencies,  more  remote  but  none  the  less  ef 
fective,  at  work  creating  discontent  among  the 
Indians.  It  seems  a  far  cry  from  the  prairies  to 
the  Tuileries,  from  an  Indian  warrior  to  a  French 
Emperor,  but  when  Napoleon's  decree  of  what 
was  virtually  a  universal  blockade  imposed  ter 
rible  hardships  on  American  shipping  as  well  as 
on  the  British  commerce  at  which  it  was  aimed, 
even  the  savage  of  the  wilderness  was  affected. 
It  clogged  and  almost  closed  the  chief  markets  for 
his  furs,  and  prices  dropped  so  low  that  Indian 
hunters  were  hardly  able  to  purchase  the  pow 
der  and  shot  with  which  to  kill  their  game.  At 
the  beginning  of  1810,  therefore,  the  Indians  were 
ripe  for  any  enterprise  that  promised  them  relief 
and  independence. 

In  the  spring  of  1808  Tecumseh,  the  prophet, 
and  their  followers  had  established  themselves  on 
the  banks  of  the  Wabash,  near  the  mouth  of  the 
Tippecanoe  River,  about  seven  miles  to  the  north 
of  the  present  site  of  Lafayette,  Indiana.  Stra 
tegically,  the  situation  was  admirably  chosen,  for 
Vincennes,  where  Harrison  had  his  headquarters, 
lay  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  below  and  could 
be  reached  in  four  and  twenty  hours  by  canoe 


The  Road  to  Glory 

down  the  Wabash;  Fort  Dearborn  was  a  hun 
dred  miles  to  the  northwest;  Fort  Wayne  the 
same  distance  to  the  northeast;  and,  barring  a 
short  portage,  the  Indians  could  paddle  their 
canoes  to  Detroit  in  one  direction  or  to  any 
part  of  the  Ohio  or  the  Mississippi  in  the  other. 
Thus  they  were  within  striking  distance  of  the 
chief  military  posts  on  the  frontier  and  within 
easy  reach  of  their  British  friends  at  Maiden. 
On  this  spot  the  Indians,  in  obedience  to  a  com 
mand  which  the  prophet  professed  to  have  re 
ceived  in  a  dream  from  the  Great  Spirit,  built  a 
sort  of  model  village,  where  they  assiduously  tilled 
the  soil  and  shunned  the  fire-water  of  the  whites. 
For  a  year  or  more  after  the  establishment  of 
Prophet's  Town,  as  the  place  was  called,  things 
went  quietly  enough,  but  when  it  became  known 
that  Harrison  had  obtained  the  cession  of  the 
three  million  acres  in  the  valley  of  the  Wabash 
already  referred  to,  the  smouldering  resentment 
of  Tecumseh  and  his  followers  was  fanned  into 
flame,  the  Indians  refusing  to  receive  the  "an 
nuity  salt"  sent  them  in  accordance  with  the 
terms  of  the  treaty  and  threatened  to  kill  the 
boatmen  who  brought  it,  whom  they  called 
"American  dogs." 

Early  in  the  following  summer  Harrison  sent 
68 


The  Prophet's  Power 

word  to  Tecumseh  that  he  would  like  to  see  him, 
and  on  August  12,  1810,  the  Indian  chief  with 
four  hundred  armed  warriors  arrived  at  the  gov 
ernor's  headquarters  at  Vincennes.  The  meeting 
between  the  white  man  who  stood  for  civiliza 
tion  and  the  red  man  who  stood  for  savagery 
took  place  in  a  field  outside  the  stockaded  town. 
The  youthful  governor,  short  of  stature,  lean  of 
body,  and  stern  of  face,  sat  in  a  chair  under  a 
spreading  tree,  surrounded  by  a  group  of  his 
officials:  army  officers,  Territorial  judges,  scouts, 
interpreters,  and  agents.  Opposite  him,  ranged 
in  a  semicircle  on  the  ground,  were  Tecumseh, 
his  brother,  the  prophet,  and  a  score  or  more  of 
chiefs,  while  back  of  them,  row  after  row  of 
blanketed  forms  and  grim,  bepainted  faces,  sat 
his  four  hundred  fighting  men.  Tecumseh  had 
been  warned  that  his  braves  must  come  to  the 
conference  unarmed,  and  to  all  appearances  they 
were  weaponless,  but  no  one  knew  better  than 
Harrison  that  concealed  beneath  the  folds  of  each 
warrior's  blanket  was  a  tomahawk  and  a  scalp- 
ing-knife.  Nor,  aware  as  he  was  of  the  danger 
of  Indian  treachery,  had  he  neglected  to  take 
precautions,  for  the  garrison  of  the  town  was 
under  arms,  the  muzzles  of  field-guns  peered 
through  apertures  in  the  log  stockade,  and  a  few 

69 


The  Road  to  Glory 

paces  away  from  the  council,  ready  to  open  fire 
at  the  first  sign  of  danger,  were  a  score  of  sol 
diers  with  loaded  rifles. 

In  reply  to  Harrison's  formal  greeting,  Tecum- 
seh  rose  to  his  feet,  presenting  a  most  striking 
and  impressive  figure  as  he  stood,  drawn  to  his 
full  height,  with  folded  arms  and  granite  features, 
the  sunlight  playing  on  his  copper-colored  skin, 
on  his  belt  and  moccasins  of  beaded  buckskin, 
and  on  the  single  eagle's  feather  which  slanted 
in  his  hair.  The  address  of  the  famous  warrior 
statesman  consisted  of  a  recital  of  the  wrongs 
which  the  Indian  had  suffered  at  the  hands  of 
the  white  man.  It  was  a  story  of  chicanery  and 
spoliation  and  oppression  which  Tecumseh  told, 
and  those  who  listened  to  it,  white  men  and  red 
alike,  knew  that  it  was  very  largely  true.  He 
told  how  the  Indians,  the  real  owners  of  the  land, 
had  been  steadily  driven  westward  and  ever  west 
ward,  first  beyond  the  Alleghanies,  and  then  be 
yond  the  Ohio,  and  now  beyond  the  Missouri. 
He  told  how  the  white  men  had  attempted  to 
create  dissension  among  the  Indians  to  prevent 
their  uniting,  how  they  had  bribed  the  stronger 
tribes  and  coerced  the  weaker,  how  again  and 
again  they  had  tried  to  goad  the  Indians  into 
committing  some  overt  act  that  they  might  use 

70 


The  Prophet's  Power 

it  as  an  excuse  for  seizing  more  of  their  land. 
He  told  how  the  whites,  jeering  at  the  sacredness 
of  treaty  obligations,  systematically  debauched 
the  Indians  by  selling  them  whiskey;  how  they 
trespassed  on  the  Indians'  lands  and  slaughtered 
the  game  on  which  the  Indians  depended  for  sup 
port;  of  how,  when  the  Indians  protested,  they 
were  often  slaughtered,  too;  and  of  how  the 
white  men's  courts,  instead  of  condemning  the 
criminal,  usually  ended  by  congratulating  him. 
He  declared  that  things  had  come  to  a  pass 
where  the  Indians  must  fight  or  perish,  that  the 
Indians  were  one  people  and  that  the  lands  be 
longing  to  them  as  a  race  could  not  be  disposed 
of  by  individual  tribes,  that  an  Indian  confed 
eracy  had  been  formed  which  both  could  and 
would  fight  every  step  of  the  white  man's  fur 
ther  advance.  As  Tecumseh  continued,  his  pro 
nunciation  became  more  guttural,  his  terms 
harsher,  his  gestures  more  excited,  his  argument 
changed  into  a  warlike  harangue.  He  played 
upon  the  Indian  portion  of  his  audience  as  a 
maestro  plays  upon  a  violin,  until,  their  passions 
mastering  their  discretion,  they  sprang  to  their 
feet  with  a  whoop,  brandishing  their  tomahawks 
and  knives.  In  the  flutter  of  an  eyelash  every 
thing  was  in  confusion.  The  waiting  soldiers 


The  Road  to  Glory 

dashed  forward  like  sprinters,  cocking  their  rifles 
as  they  ran.  The  officers  jerked  loose  their 
swords,  and  the  frontiersmen  snatched  up  their 
long-barrelled  weapons.  But  Harrison  was  quick 
est  of  all,  for,  drawing  and  cocking  a  pistol  with 
a  single  motion,  he  thrust  its  muzzle  squarely 
into  Tecumseh's  face.  "Call  off  your  men,"  he 
thundered,  "or  you're  a  dead  Indian!"  Tecum- 
seh,  realizing  that  he  had  overplayed  his  part 
and  appreciating  that  this  was  an  occasion  when 
discretion  was  of  more  avail  than  valor,  motioned 
to  his  warriors,  and  they  silently  and  sullenly 
withdrew. 

But  it  was  no  part  of  Tecumseh's  plan  or  of 
the  British  who  were  behind  him  to  bring  on  a 
war  at  this  time,  when  their  preparations  were 
as  yet  incomplete;  so  the  following  morning 
Tecumseh,  who  had  little  to  learn  about  the  game 
of  diplomacy,  called  on  Harrison,  expressed  with 
apparent  sincerity  his  regret  for  the  violence  into 
which  his  young  men  had  been  led  by  his  words, 
and  asked  to  have  the  council  resumed.  Harri 
son  well  knew  the  great  ability  and  influence  of 
Tecumseh  and  was  anxious  to  conciliate  him,  for, 
truth  to  tell,  the  Americans  were  no  more  pre 
pared  for  war  at  this  time  than  were  the  In 
dians.  When  asked  whether  he  intended  to  per- 

72 


The  Prophet's  Power 

sist  in  his  opposition  to  the  cessions  of  territory 
in  the  valley  of  the  Wabash,  Tecumseh  firmly 
asserted  his  intention  to  adhere  to  the  old  bound 
ary,  though  he  made  it  clear  that,  if  the  governor 
would  prevail  upon  the  President  to  give  up  the 
lands  in  question  and  would  agree  never  to  make 
another  treaty  without  the  consent  of  all  the 
tribes,  he  would  pledge  himself  to  be  a  faithful 
ally  of  the  United  States.  Otherwise  he  would 
be  obliged  to  enter  into  an  alliance  with  the 
English.  Harrison  told  him  that  the  American 
Government  would  never  agree  to  his  suggestions. 
"Well,"  rejoined  Tecumseh,  as  though  he  had 
expected  the  answer  he  received,  "as  the  Great 
Chief  is  to  decide  the  matter,  I  hope  the  Great 
Spirit  will  put  sense  enough  into  his  head  to  in 
duce  him  to  direct  you  to  give  up  the  land.  True, 
he  is  so  far  off  that  he  will  not  be  injured  by  the 
war.  It  is  you  and  I  who  will  have  to  fight  it 
out  while  he  sits  in  his  town  and  drinks  his  wine." 
It  only  needed  this  open  declaration  of  his 
hostile  intentions  by  Tecumseh  to  convince  Har 
rison  that  the  time  had  come  to  strike,  and  strike 
hard.  If  the  peril  of  the  great  Indian  league  of 
which  Tecumseh  had  boasted  was  to  be  averted, 
it  must  be  done  before  that  confederation  became 
too  strongly  organized  to  shatter.  There  was  no 

73 


The  Road  to  Glory 

time  to  be  lost.  Harrison  promptly  issued  a  call 
for  volunteers  to  take  part  in  a  campaign  against 
the  Indians,  at  the  same  time  despatching  a  mes 
senger  to  Washington  requesting  the  loan  of  a 
regiment  of  regulars  to  stiffen  the  raw  levies  who 
would  compose  the  major  part  of  the  expedition. 
News  of  Harrison's  call  for  men  spread  over  the 
frontier  States  as  though  disseminated  by  wire 
less,  and  soon  the  volunteers  came  pouring  in: 
frontiersmen  from  Kentucky  and  Tennessee  in  fur 
caps  and  hunting-shirts  of  buckskin;  woodsmen 
from  the  forests  of  Michigan  and  Wisconsin, 
long-barrelled  rifles  on  their  shoulders  and  pow 
der-horns  slung  from  their  necks;  militiamen 
from  Indiana  and  Illinois,  and  grizzled  Indian- 
fighters  from  the  towns  along  the  river  and  the 
backwoods  settlements,  who  volunteered  as  much 
from  love  of  fighting  as  from  hatred  of  the 
Indians.  Then,  one  day,  almost  before  Harri 
son  realized  that  they  had  started,  a  column 
of  dusty,  footsore  soldiery  came  tramping  into 
Vincennes  with  the  unmistakable  swing  of  vet 
erans.  It  was  the  4th  Regiment  of  United  States 
Infantry,  commanded  by  Colonel  John  Parker 
Boyd,  who,  upon  receiving  orders  from  Wash 
ington  to  hurry  to  Harrison's  assistance,  had  put 
his  men  on  flatboats  at  Pittsburg,  where  the 

74 


The  Prophet's  Power 

regiment  was  stationed,  floated  them  down  to 
the  falls  of  the  Ohio,  and  marched  them  over 
land  to  Harrison's  headquarters  at  Vincennes,  ac 
complishing  the  four-hundred-mile  journey  in  a 
time  which  made  that  veteran  frontiersman  open 
his  eyes  with  astonishment  when  he  heard  it. 

Boyd  *  was  one  of  the  most  picturesque  figures 
which  our  country  has  ever  produced.  Born  in 
Newburyport  in  1764,  the  last  British  soldier  had 
left  our  shores  before  he  was  old  enough  to  real 
ize  the  ambition  of  his  life  by  obtaining  a  com 
mission  in  the  American  army.  But  his  was  not 
the  disposition  which  could  content  itself  with 
the  tedium  of  garrison  life  in  time  of  peace;  so,  be 
fore  he  had  passed  his  four-and-twentieth  birth 
day  he  had  handed  in  his  papers  and  taken  pas 
sage  for  India.  The  closing  years  of  the  eight 
eenth  century  saw  fighting  going  on  from  one 
end  of  Hindustan  to  the  other.  The  British  were 
fighting  the  French,  and  the  Hindus  were  fighting 
the  Mohammedans,  so  that  men  with  military 
training  found  there  a  profitable  market  for  their 
services  and  their  swords. 

After  serving  for  a  time  as  cavalry  instructor 


*  A  detailed  account  of  the  amazing  exploits  of  Colonel  Boyd  will 
be  found  in  "For  Rent:  An  Army  on  Elephants,"  in  Mr.  Powell's 
"Gentlemen  Rovers." 

75 


The  Road  to  Glory 

in  the  armies  of  the  Peishwa,  as  the  ruler  of  the 
Mahratta  tribes  was  called,  Boyd  obtained  a 
commission  as  colonel  in  the  service  of  the  Nizam 
of  Hyderabad,  distinguished  himself  in  a  series 
of  whirlwind  raids  which  he  led  into  the  terri 
tory  of  the  Sultan  of  Mysore  during  the  cam 
paign  which  ended  with  the  death  of  that  tyrant 
in  a  last  desperate  stand  at  the  gates  of  his  capi 
tal  of  Seringapatam,  and  was  rewarded  by  the 
Nizam  giving  him  the  command  of  a  brigade  of 
ten  thousand  turbaned  troopers.  Having  by  this 
time  accumulated  a  modest  fortune  as  a  result 
of  the  lavish  pay  he  had  received  from  his  princely 
employers,  he  resigned  from  the  Nizam's  service 
and  organized  an  army  of  his  own.  The  horses, 
elephants,  and  guns  were  his  personal  property, 
and  he  rented  his  army  to  those  native  princes 
who  stood  in  need  of  its  services  and  were  able 
to  pay  for  them,  very  much  as  a  garage  rents  an 
automobile. 

Foreseeing  the  eventual  conquest  of  India  by 
the  British  and  realizing  that  it  would  mean  the 
end  of  independent  soldiering  in  that  country,  he 
sold  his  army,  elephants  and  all,  to  an  Italian 
soldier  of  fortune  and  turned  his  face  toward  his 
native  land  once  more.  At  that  time  soldiering 
was  neither  a  very  popular  nor  a  very  profitable 

76 


The  Prophet's  Power 

profession  in  the  United  States,  so  that  Boyd, 
whose  reputation  as  a  daring  leader  and  a  rigid 
disciplinarian  had  preceded  him,  had  no  difficulty 
in  again  obtaining  a  commission  under  his  own 
flag  and  in  the  service  of  his  own  country,  being 
offered  by  the  government  and  promptly  accept 
ing  the  colonelcy  of  the  4th  Regiment  of  foot. 
An  October  evening  in  1811,  then,  saw  him  riding 
into  Vincennes  at  the  head  of  his  travel-weary 
regulars,  in  response  to  Governor  Harrison's  re 
quest  for  reinforcements. 

The  news  brought  in  by  the  scouts  that  war- 
dances  were  going  on  in  the  Indian  villages  and 
that  the  threatened  storm  was  about  to  break 
served  to  hasten  Harrison's  preparations.  The 
small,  but  exceedingly  businesslike,  expedition 
which  marched  out  of  Vincennes  on  the  ist  day 
of  November  under  the  leadership  of  Governor 
Harrison,  with  Colonel  Boyd  in  direct  command 
of  the  troops,  consisted  of  the  nine  companies  of 
regulars  which  Boyd  had  brought  from  Pitts- 
burg,  six  companies  of  infantry  of  the  Indiana 
militia,  two  companies  of  Indiana  dragoons,  two 
companies  of  Kentucky  mounted  rifles,  a  com 
pany  of  Indiana  mounted  rifles,  and  a  company 
of  scouts — about  eleven  hundred  men  in  all. 
Their  uniforms  would  have  looked  strange  and 

77 


The  Road  to  Glory 

outlandish  indeed  to  one  accustomed  to  the  ser 
viceable,  dust-colored  garb  of  the  present-day  sol 
dier,  for  the  infantry  wore  high  felt  hats  of  the 
"stovepipe"  pattern,  adorned  with  red-white-and- 
blue  cockades,  tight-waisted,  long-tailed  coats  of 
blue  cloth  with  brass  buttons,  and  pantaloons  as 
nearly  skin-tight  as  the  tailor  could  make  them. 
The  dragoons  were  gorgeous  in  white  buckskin 
breeches,  high,  varnished  boots,  "shell"  jackets 
which  reached  barely  to  the  hips,  and  brass  hel 
mets  with  streaming  plumes  of  horsehair.  Be 
cause  the  mounted  riflemen  who  were  under  the 
command  of  Captain  Spencer  wore  gray  uniforms 
lavishly  trimmed  with  yellow,  they  bore  the  nick 
name  among  the  troops  of  "Spencer's  Yellow- 
Jackets."  The  only  men  of  the  force,  indeed, 
who  were  suitably  clad  for  Indian  warfare  were 
the  scouts,  who  wore  the  hunting-shirts,  leggings, 
and  moccasins  of  soft-tanned  buckskin,  which 
were  the  orthodox  dress  of  the  frontier. 

Commanded  by  men  of  such  wide  experience  in 
savage  warfare  as  Harrison  and  Boyd,  it  is  need 
less  to  say  that  every  precaution  was  taken  against 
surprise,  the  column  moving  in  a  formation  which 
prepared  it  for  instant  battle.  The  cavalry 
formed  advance  and  rear  guards,  and  small  de 
tachments  rode  on  either  flank;  the  infantry 

78 


The  Prophet's  Power 

marched  in  two  columns,  one  on  either  side  of 
the  trail,  with  the  baggage  wagons,  pack-animals, 
and  beeves  between  them,  while  the  scouts, 
thrown  far  out  into  the  forest,  formed  a  moving 
cordon  of  skirmishers.  After  crossing  the  Ver 
milion  River  the  troops  found  themselves  upon 
an  immense  prairie,  which  stretched  away,  level 
as  a  floor,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see — as  far  as 
the  Illinois  at  Chicago,  the  guides  asserted.  It 
filled  the  soldiers,  who  came  from  a  rugged  and 
heavily  forested  country,  with  the  greatest  as 
tonishment,  for  few  of  them  had  ever  seen  so 
vast  an  expanse  of  level  ground  before.  Shortly 
afterward,  however,  they  left  the  prairie  and 
marched  through  open  woods,  over  ground  gashed 
and  furrowed  by  deep  ravines.  Here  the  great 
est  precautions  had  to  be  observed,  for  clouds  of 
Indian  scouts  hung  upon  the  flanks  of  the  col 
umn,  and  the  broken  nature  of  the  country  fitted 
it  admirably  for  ambushes. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  November  6,  1811,  in 
a  cold  and  drizzling  rain,  Harrison  gave  orders  to 
bivouac  for  the  night  on  a  piece  of  high  but 
swamp-surrounded  ground  on  the  banks  of  the 
Tippecanoe  River,  near  its  junction  with  the 
Wabash,  and  barely  five  miles  from  the  Proph 
et's  Town.  It  was  a  triangular-shaped  knoll, 

79 


The  Road  to  Glory 

dotted  with  oaks,  one  side  of  which  dropped 
down  in  a  sharp  declivity  to  a  little  stream 
edged  with  willows  and  heavy  underbrush,  while 
the  other  two  sides  sloped  down  more  gradually 
to  a  marshy  prairie.  The  camp  was  arranged  in 
the  form  of  an  irregular  parallelogram,  with  the 
regulars — who  were  the  only  seasoned  troops  in  the 
expedition — forming  the  front  and  rear,  the  flanks 
being  composed  of  mounted  riflemen  supported 
by  militia,  while  two  troops  of  dragoons  were 
held  in  reserve.  In  the  centre  of  this  armed 
enclosure  were  parked  the  pack-animals  and  the 
baggage-train.  Though  late  in  the  night  the 
moon  rose  from  behind  a  bank  of  clouds;  the 
night  was  very  dark,  with  occasional  flurries  of 
rain.  The  troops  lay  on  the  rain-soaked  ground 
with  rifles  loaded  and  bayonets  fixed,  but  they 
slept  but  little,  I  fancy,  for  they  had  brought 
no  tents,  few  of  them  were  provided  with  blan 
kets,  and  top-hats  and  tail-coats  are  not  exactly 
adapted  to  camping  in  the  forest  in  November. 

From  his  experience  in  previous  campaigns, 
Harrison  had  learned  that,  while  in  the  vicinity 
of  any  considerable  body  of  Indians,  it  was  the 
part  of  precaution  to  arouse  his  men  quietly  an 
hour  or  so  before  daybreak,  for  it  was  a  charac 
teristic  of  the  Indians  to  deliver  their  attacks 

80 


The  Prophet's  Power 

shortly  before  the  dawn,  which  is  the  hour  when 
tired  men  sleep  the  soundest.  Meanwhile,  in  the 
Indian  camp  preparations  were  being  stealthily 
made  for  the  surprise  and  extermination  of  the 
white  invaders.  Tecumseh  was  not  present,  be 
ing  absent  on  one  of  his  proselyting  tours  among 
the  southern  tribes,  but  the  prophet  brought  out 
the  sacred  torch  and  the  magic  beans,  which  his 
followers  had  only  to  touch,  so  he  assured  them, 
to  become  invulnerable  to  the  enemy's  bullets. 
This  ceremony  was  followed  by  a  series  of  incan 
tations,  war  songs  and  dances,  until  the  Indians, 
now  wrought  up  to  a  frenzy,  were  ready  for  any 
deed  of  madness.  Slipping  like  horrid  phantoms 
through  the  waist-high  prairie  grass  in  the  black 
ness  of  the  night,  they  crept  nearer  and  nearer 
to  the  sleeping  camp,  intending  to  surround  the 
position,  stab  the  sentries,  rush  the  camp,  and 
slaughter  every  man  in  it  whom  they  could  not 
take  alive  for  the  torture  stake. 

In  pursuance  of  his  custom  of  early  rising, 
Harrison  was  just  pulling  on  his  boots  before  the 
embers  of  a  dying  camp-fire,  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  preparatory  to  rousing  his  men,  when 
the  silence  of  the  forest  was  suddenly  broken  by 
the  crack  of  a  sentry's  rifle.  The  echoes  had  not 
time  to  die  away  before,  from  three  sides  of  the 

81 


The  Road  to  Glory 

camp,  rose  the  shrill,  hair-raising  war-whoop  of 
the  Indians.  As  familiar  with  the  lay  of  the  land 
as  a  housewife  is  with  the  arrangements  of  her 
kitchen,  they  had  effected  their  plan  of  surround 
ing  the  camp,  confident  of  taking  the  suddenly 
awakened  soldiers  so  completely  by  surprise  that 
they  would  be  unable  to  offer  an  effectual  re 
sistance.  Not  a  warrior  of  them  but  did  not 
look  forward  to  returning  to  the  Prophet's 
Town  with  a  string  of  dripping  scalp-locks  at 
his  waist. 

The  Indians,  quite  unlike  their  usual  custom 
of  keeping  to  cover,  fought  as  white  men  fight, 
for,  made  reckless  by  the  prophet's  assurances 
that  his  spells  had  made  them  invulnerable  and 
that  bullets  could  not  harm  them,  they  advanced 
at  a  run  across  the  open.  At  sight  of  the  on 
coming  wave  of  bedaubed  and  befeathered  fig 
ures  the  raw  levies  from  Indiana  and  Kentucky 
visibly  wavered  and  threatened  to  give  way,  but 
Boyd's  regulars,  though  taken  by  surprise,  showed 
the  result  of  their  training  by  standing  like  a 
stone  wall  against  the  onset  of  the  whooping  red 
skins.  The  engagement  quickly  became  general. 
The  chorus  of  cheers  and  yells  and  groans  and 
war-whoops  was  punctuated  by  the  continuous 
crackle  of  the  frontiersmen's  rifles  and  the  crash- 

82 


The  Prophet's  Power 

ing  volleys  of  the  infantry.  Harrison,  a  conspicu 
ous  figure  on  a  white  horse  and  wearing  a  white 
blanket  coat,  rode  up  and  down  the  lines,  en 
couraging  here,  cautioning  there,  as  cool  and  as 
quiet-voiced  as  though  back  on  the  parade-ground 
at  Vincennes. 

The  pressure  was  greatest  at  the  angle  of  the 
camp  where  the  first  attack  was  made,  the  troops 
stationed  at  this  point  having  the  greatest  diffi 
culty  in  holding  their  position.  Seeing  this, 
Major  Joseph  H.  Daviess,  a  brilliant  but  hot 
headed  young  Kentuckian  who  had  achieved 
fame  by  his  relentless  attacks  on  Aaron  Burr, 
twice  asked  permission  to  charge  with  his  dra 
goons,  and  twice  the  governor  sent  back  the  an 
swer:  "Tell  Major  Daviess  to  be  patient;  he 
shall  have  his  chance  before  the  battle  is  over." 
When  Daviess  for  a  third  time  urged  his  impor 
tunate  request,  Harrison  answered  the  messenger 
sharply:  "Tell  Major  Daviess  he  has  twice  heard 
my  opinion;  he  may  now  use  his  own  discretion." 
Discretion,  however,  was  evidently  not  included 
in  the  Kentuckian's  make-up,  for  no  sooner  had 
he  received  Harrison's  message  than,  with  barely 
a  score  of  dismounted  troopers,  he  charged  the 
Indian  line.  So  foolhardy  a  performance  could 
only  be  expected  to  end  in  disaster.  Daviess  fell, 

83 


The  Road  to  Glory 

mortally  wounded,  and  his  men,  such  of  them  as 
were  not  dead,  turned  and  fled  for  their  lives. 

The  prophet,  who  had  been  chanting  appeals 
to  the  Great  Spirit  from  the  top  of  a  rock  within 
view  of  his  warriors  but  safely  out  of  range  of 
the  American  rifles  (he  evidently  had  some 
doubts  as  to  the  efficacy  of  his  charms),  realized 
that,  as  a  result  of  the  unforeseen  obstinacy 
of  the  Americans'  resistance,  victory  was  fast 
slipping  from  his  grasp  and  that  his  only  hope 
of  success  lay  in  an  overwhelming  charge. 
Roused  to  renewed  fanaticism  by  his  fervid  ex 
hortations,  the  Indians  once  again  swept  for 
ward,  whooping  like  madmen.  But  the  Ameri 
cans  were  ready  for  them,  and  as  the  yelling 
redskins  came  within  range  they  met  them  with 
a  volley  of  buckshot  which  left  them  wavering, 
undecided  whether  to  come  on  or  to  retreat.  Har 
rison,  whose  plan  was  to  maintain  his  lines  un 
broken  until  daylight  and  then  make  a  general 
advance,  and  who  had  been  constantly  riding 
from  point  to  point  within  the  camp  to  keep  the 
assailed  positions  reinforced,  realized  that  the 
crucial  moment  had  arrived.  Now  was  his  chance 
to  drive  home  the  deciding  blow.  Boyd,  recog 
nizing  as  quickly  as  Harrison  the  opportunity 
thus  presented,  ordered  a  bugler  to  sound  the 

84 


The  Indians,  panic-stricken  at  the  sight  of  the  oncoming 
troopers,  broke  and  ran. 


The  Prophet's  Power 

charge,  and  his  infantry  roared  down  upon  the 
Indian  line  in  a  human  avalanche  tipped  with 
steel.  At  the  same  moment  he  ordered  up  the 
two  squadrons  of  dragoons  which  he  had  been 
holding  in  reserve.  "Right  into  line !"  he  roared, 
in  the  voice  which  had  resounded  over  so  many 
fields  in  far-off  Hindustan.  "Trot!  Gallop! 
Charge!  Hip,  hip,  here  we  go!"  It  was  this 
charge,  delivered  with  the  smashing  suddenness 
with  which  a  boxer  gets  in  a  solar-plexus  blow, 
which  did  the  business.  The  Indians,  panic- 
stricken  at  the  sight  of  the  oncoming  troopers  in 
their  brass  helmets  and  streaming  plumes  of 
horsehair,  broke  and  ran.  Tippecanoe  was  won, 
though  at  a  cost  to  the  Americans  of  nearly  two 
hundred  killed  and  wounded,  including  two  lieu 
tenant-colonels,  two  majors,  five  captains,  and 
several  lieutenants.  The  discredited  prophet, 
now  become  an  object  of  hatred  and  derision 
among  his  own  people,  fled  for  his  life  while  the 
victorious  Americans  burned  his  town  behind  him. 
Tecumseh,  returning  from  the  south  to  be  greeted 
by  the  news  of  the  disaster  to  his  plans  resulting 
from  his  brother's  folly,  threw  in  his  lot  with  the 
British,  commanded  England's  Indian  allies  in 
the  War  of  1812,  and  died  two  years  later  at  the 
battle  of  the  Thames,  when  his  old  adversary, 


The  Road  to  Glory 

Harrison,  once  again  led  the  Americans  to  vic 
tory.  For  his  share  in  the  Tippecanoe  triumph, 
Boyd  received  a  brigadier-general's  commission. 
Harrison  was  started  on  the  road  which  was  to 
end  at  the  White  House.  The  peril  of  the  great 
Indian  confederation  was  ended  forever,  and  the 
civilization  of  the  West  was  advanced  a  quarter 
of  a  century. 


86 


THE  WAR  THAT  WASN'T  A  WAR 


THE  WAR  THAT  WASN'T  A  WAR 

I  WONDER  how  many  of  the  white-clad, 
white-shod  folk  who  lounge  their  winters 
away  on  the  golf-links  at  St.  Augustine  or  in 
wheeled  chairs  propelled  by  Ethiopians  along  the 
fragrant  pathways  of  Palm  Beach  ever  specu 
late  as  to  how  it  happens  that  the  flags  which 
fly  over  the  Ponce  de  Leon  and  the  Royal  Poin- 
ciana  are  made  of  red,  white,  and  blue  bunting 
instead,  say,  of  red  and  yellow.  Not  many  of 
them,  I  expect,  for  professional  joy  hunters  have 
no  time  to  spare  for  history.  I  wonder  how 
many  of  those  people  who  complacently  regard 
themselves  as  well-read  and  well-informed  could 
tell  you  offhand,  if  you  asked  them,  how  Florida 
became  American  or  give  you  even  the  barest 
outline  of  the  conception  and  execution  of  that 
daring  and  cynical  scheme  whereby  it  was  added  to 
the  Union.  I  wonder  how  many  professors  of  his 
tory  in  our  schools  and  colleges  are  aware  that 
Florida  was  once  a  republic — for  but  a  brief  time, 
it  is  true — with  a  flag  and  a  president  and  an 
army  of  its  own.  I  wonder  how  many  of  our 
military  and  naval  officers  know  that  we  fought 

89 


The  Road  to  Glory 

Spanish  soldiers  and  stormed  Spanish  forts  and 
captured  Spanish  towns  and  hauled  down  Span 
ish  colors  (all  quite  unofficially,  of  course)  four 
score  years  before  Schley  and  Sampson  sunk  the 
Spanish  fleet  ofF  Santiago.  And,  finally,  I  wonder 
how  many  people  have  ever  so  much  as  heard  of 
the  Emperor  McGillivray,  who  held  his  barbaric 
court  at  Tallahassee  and  was  a  general  in  the 
armies  of  England,  Spain,  and  the  United  States 
at  the  same  time;  of  Sir  Gregor  MacGregor,  the 
Scottish  soldier  of  fortune  who  attempted  to  es 
tablish  a  kingdom  at  Fernandina  and  died  King 
of  the  Mosquito  Coast;  or  any  of  those  other 
strange  and  romantic  figures — De  Aury,  Hubbard, 
Peire,  Humbert — who  followed  him.  It  is  a  dash 
ing  story  but  a  bloody  one,  and  those  who  have 
no  stomach  for  intrigue  and  treachery  and  massa 
cre  and  ambushes  and  storming  parties  and  fili 
bustering  expeditions  had  better  turn  elsewhere 
for  their  reading. 

Some  one  has  aptly  remarked  that  the  history 
of  Florida  is  but  a  bowl  of  blood,  and  that,  were 
a  man  to  cast  into  it  some  chemical  that  would 
separate  the  solid  ingredients  from  the  mere  water, 
he  would  find  that  the  precipitate  at  the  bottom 
consisted  of  little  save  death  and  disappointment. 
Certainly  the  Spaniards  were  rewarded  by  little 

90 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

more,  for  after  they  had  ruled  it  for  two  hundred 
and  fifty  years  the  net  results  of  their  labor  were 
the  beggarly  settlements  at  Pensacola  and  St. 
Augustine.  In  1763  England  ceded  Havana  to 
Spain  in  exchange  for  Florida,  and  for  a  brief 
time  that  harassed  country  was  on  speaking  terms 
with  peace  and  prosperity,  for  the  English  estab 
lished  settlements  and  built  roads  and  started 
schools,  as  is  the  quaint  Anglo-Saxon  way.  But 
with  the  loss  of  her  American  colonies,  in  1783, 
England  suddenly  concluded  that  it  was  not 
worth  her  while  to  retain  this  now  isolated  prov 
ince;  so  she  ceded  it  back  to  Spain,  and  the  set 
tlers  found  that  their  work  had  gone  for  noth 
ing.  A  Spanish  lethargy  promptly  settled  upon 
the  land;  grass  sprang  up  in  the  main  streets  of 
the  towns;  the  noon-hour  was  expanded  into  a 
siesta  which  lasted  from  twelve  to  four;  the  in 
digo  plantations  started  by  the  English  colonists 
were  neglected  and  ran  out;  the  injustice,  cruelty, 
and  oppression  which  everywhere  characterized 
Spanish  rule  entered  upon  a  return  engagement; 
and  Florida  became  a  savage  and  lawless  border 
land,  where  Indians,  runaway  slaves,  filibusters, 
frontiersmen,  and  fugitives  from  justice  fought 
each  other  and  united  only  in  jeering  at  the 
feeble  rule  of  Spain. 


The  Road  to  Glory 

At  this  time  the  colony  was  divided  into  two 
provinces,  known  as  East  and  West  Florida. 
The  former  province  was  virtually  identical  with 
the  present  State,  extending  from  the  Perdido 
River  (now  the  boundary-line  between  the  States 
of  Florida  and  Alabama)  eastward  to  the  Atlantic 
Ocean,  including  the  great  peninsula  lying  south 
of  Georgia  and  stretching  across  almost  six  de 
grees  of  latitude.  On  its  Atlantic  seaboard  were 
the  towns  of  Fernandina  and  St.  Augustine,  and 
on  the  Gulf  coast  the  ports  of  Pensacola  and 
St.  Marks.  The  province  of  West  Florida  ex 
tended  from  the  Perdido  westward,  according  to 
the  Spanish  claims,  to  the  Mississippi  and  in 
cluded  the  river  town  of  Baton  Rouge  and  the 
Gulf  port  of  Mobile.  It  will  be  seen,  therefore, 
that  Spain  was  in  possession  of  all  that  great 
semicircle  of  Gulf  coast  stretching  from  Key  West 
to  New  Orleans. 

In  1803,  Napoleon,  hard-pressed  for  funds  with 
which  to  continue  his  European  campaigns,  sold 
the  colony  of  Louisiana  to  the  United  States  as 
unconcernedly  as  though  he  were  disposing  of  a 
suburban  building  lot.  This  proceeding  was  typ 
ical  of  the  utter  indifference  with  which  the  sov 
ereigns  of  the  Old  World  were  accustomed  to 
transfer  their  colonies  in  the  New.  The  colo- 

92 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

nists,  however  much  they  may  have  loved  their 
sovereign,  their  country,  or  her  institutions,  were 
bought,  sold,  or  given  away,  without  their  con 
sent  and  often  without  their  knowledge.  This 
enormous  addition  to  the  national  domain  made  it 
not  only  desirable  but  imperative  that  the  United 
States  acquire  ports  upon  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  so 
that  the  settlers  in  Tennessee,  Mississippi,  Ala 
bama,  and  western  Georgia  might  have  an  outlet 
for  their  products.  The  gentlemen  in  frock  coats 
and  high  black  stocks  who  were  at  the  tiller  of 
our  ship  of  state  determined,  therefore,  that  the 
Floridas  must  become  American — peacefully  if 
possible,  forcibly  if  there  was  no  other  way. 

Now,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  at  this 
time  Spain  had  no  diplomatic  intercourse  with 
the  United  States,  the  gigantic  policy  of  Napoleon 
having,  for  the  time  being,  erased  her  from  the 
list  of  nations.  Thus  overwhelmed  at  home,  her 
possessions  in  America  were  either  in  a  state  of 
open  revolt  or  in  so  defenseless  a  condition  that 
they  were  ready  to  drop  like  ripe  plums  into  the 
hands  of  any  nation  which  shook  the  tree.  It 
will  thus  be  seen  that  the  gentlemen  in  Washing 
ton  quite  evidently  knew  what  they  were  about 
when  they  chose  a  time  when  Mother  Spain  was 
confined  to  her  bed,  as  the  result  of  the  beating 

93 


The  Road  to  Glory 

up  she  had  received  from  Napoleon,  to  elope  with 
her  daughter  Florida. 

Once  set  in  motion,  the  machinery  of  conquest 
proceeded  to  pare  off  slices  of  Florida  with  the 
neatness  and  despatch  of  a  meat-cutting  machine. 
The  plans  of  the  American  Government  worked 
out  as  smoothly  as  a  church  wedding  which  has 
been  rehearsed  beforehand.  The  carefully  laid 
scheme  first  manifested  itself  in  October,  1810, 
when  a  revolution  broke  out  in  that  portion  of 
West  Florida  bordering  upon  the  Mississippi.  In 
that  region  there  was  a  family  of  American  set 
tlers  named  Kemper  who  had  suffered  many  in 
justices  under  Spanish  rule.  Two  of  these  men, 
Samuel  and  Reuben  (the  same  Reuben  Kemper, 
by  the  way,  whose  exploits  in  Mexico  are  de 
scribed  in  "Adventurers  All"),  determined  to  get 
rid  of  their  hated  rulers,  incited  the  neighboring 
settlers  to  rise  in  armed  revolt.  Assembling  at  St. 
Francisville,  they  marched  through  the  night,  ar 
rived  before  Baton  Rouge  at  dawn,  took  it  by 
surprise,  and  after  a  skirmish  in  which  the  Span 
ish  governor  was  killed  drove  out  the  garrison 
and  occupied  the  town.  In  order  to  throw  a 
cloak  of  legality  over  their  acts,  the  revolution 
ists  organized  a  convention,  issued  a  declaration 
of  independence  modelled  on  Jefferson's  immor- 

94 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

tal  document,  elected  Fulwar  Skipwith,  formerly 
American  diplomatic  agent  in  France,  president 
of  the  new  republic,  and  hoisted  over  the  cap 
tured  town  a  flag  with  a  single  star — the  same 
emblem  under  which  the  Texans  were  to  win 
their  independence  thirty  odd  years  later.  This 
done,  the  infant  republic  asked  the  United  States 
to  recognize  it  as  an  independent  nation.  But 
President  Monroe,  instead  of  extending  recogni 
tion,  asserting  that  the  revolted  province  had 
been  ceded  by  Spain  to  France  along  with  Louisi 
ana  in  1800,  and  therefore,  being  part  and  parcel 
of  Louisiana,  belonged  to  the  United  States  any 
way,  declared  the  Territory  of  West  Florida,  as 
far  east  as  the  Pearl  River,  an  American  possession. 
Shortly  after  the  capture  of  Baton  Rouge 
Colonel  Kemper,  acting  under  orders  from  the 
revolutionary  government,  led  another  expedition 
against  Mobile.  Made  overconfident  by  their  easy 
triumph  at  Baton  Rouge,  the  filibusters  encamped 
a  few  miles  above  Mobile  and  spent  the  night  in  a 
grand  carousal  in  celebration  of  their  anticipated 
victory  on  the  morrow.  But  the  Spanish  gov 
ernor,  learning  from  a  spy  of  the  Americans'  be 
fuddled  condition,  sallied  out  at  the  head  of  three 
hundred  men,  took  the  revolutionists  by  surprise, 
and  completely  routed  them.  A  major  and  nine 

95 


The  Road  to  Glory 

men  who  were  taken  prisoners  were  transported 
to  Havana,  where  they  paid  for  their  affront  to 
the  majesty  of  Spain  by  spending  five  years  in 
Morro  Castle.  A  few  weeks  later  a  strong  force 
of  American  regulars  arrived  off  Mobile  and 
coolly  sat  down  within  sight  of  the  Spanish  for 
tifications.  They  explained  their  presence  to  the 
Spanish  governor  by  saying  that  they  had  been 
sent  by  the  American  Government  to  protect 
him  and  his  men  from  further  attacks  by  the 
insurgents.  The  gentlemen  who  were  shaping 
the  policies  of  the  nation  in  Washington  certainly 
must  have  had  a  sense  of  humor.  Though  the 
Spanish  flag  still  flew  over  Mobile,  the  United 
States  was  now,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  in 
complete  possession  of  West  Florida.  In  the 
spring  of  1812,  when  the  American  Government 
finally  determined  on  a  war  with  England,  the 
strategic  importance  of  Mobile  became  apparent 
and  President  Monroe,  deciding  that  the  time 
had  come  to  end  the  farce,  despatched  an  expe 
dition  under  General  Wilkinson  to  oust  the  Span 
ish  garrison  and  formally  occupy  the  city.  The 
United  States  was  now  in  full  possession  of  one  of 
the  Gulf  ports  she  had  so  long  been  coveting,  and 
the  machinery  of  conquest  was  still  in  working 
order. 

96 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

Meanwhile  the  American  Government,  having 
heard  rumors  that  the  British  were  about  to  as 
sume  control  of  East  Florida  under  the  provisions 
of  a  secret  arrangement  with  Spain,  asked  permis 
sion  of  the  Spanish  authorities  to  occupy  that  prov 
ince  with  troops  that  it  might  not  be  used  by  the 
British  as  a  base  of  operations.  (The  occupation 
was  to  be  purely  temporary;  oh,  yes  indeed,  the 
American  troops  would  be  withdrawn  as  soon  as 
the  war-clouds  which  were  piling  up  along  the 
political  horizon  lifted  a  little.)  It  is  scarcely  to 
be  wondered  at,  however,  that  Spain  curtly  re 
fused  the  request,  whereupon  Congress,  in  secret 
session,  passed  an  act  authorizing  the  seizure  of 
East  Florida.  But  it  would  have  smacked  too 
much  of  highway  robbery  or  of  burglary,  which 
ever  you  choose  to  call  it,  for  the  United  States 
to  have  sent  a  military  expedition  into  the  prov 
ince  and  taken  it  by  force  of  arms.  That  would 
have  been  just  a  little  too  coarse  and  crude  and 
might,  moreover,  have  called  forth  a  European 
protest.  But  surely  no  blame  could  be  attached 
to  the  United  States  because  the  settlers  in  south 
ern  Georgia,  exasperated,  they  said,  by  the  law 
less  conditions  which  prevailed  in  the  adjacent 
Spanish  province,  suddenly  determined  to  follow 
the  example  of  their  neighbors  in  West  Florida 

97 


The  Road  to  Glory 

and  organize  a  republican  form  of  government 
in  East  Florida  as  a  preliminary  to  applying 
for  admission  to  the  Union.  It  was  a  strange  co 
incidence,  was  it  not,  that  the  instigator  of  the 
revolution,  General  George  Mathews,  a  former 
governor  of  Georgia,  had  been  appointed  a  com 
missioner,  under  the  secret  act  of  Congress,  to  se 
cure  the  province  ?  Amelia  Island,  lying  just  off 
the  Florida  coast  and  a  little  below  the  bound 
ary  of  Georgia,  provided  an  admirable  base  of 
operations.  The  fine  harbor  of  its  capital,  Fer- 
nandina,  was  just  becoming  of  considerable  com 
mercial  importance  and  in  Spanish  hands  might 
prove  a  serious  menace  to  the  United  States  in 
the  approaching  war  with  England.  Hence  the 
acquisition  of  this  island  and  harbor  was  regarded 
by  the  American  authorities  as  a  military  neces 
sity.  Early  in  1812,  therefore,  a  force  of  some 
two  hundred  Georgian  frontiersmen  under  Gen 
eral  Mathews  moved  down  upon  Fernandina  and 
sent  a  flag  of  truce,  demanding  the  surrender  of 
the  town  and  island.  As  a  flotilla  of  American 
gunboats,  by  a  streak  of  the  greatest  good  luck, 
happened  into  the  harbor  at  this  psychological 
moment,  and  a  force  of  American  regulars,  by 
another  singular  coincidence,  appeared  upon  the 
scene  and  placed  themselves  under  Mathews's 

98 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

orders,  there  was  nothing  left  for  the  Spanish 
commandant  but  to  haul  down  his  flag.  Where 
upon  General  Mathews,  assuming  the  attitude  of 
a  protector,  took  possession  of  the  place  in  the 
name  of  the  United  States.  With  the  precedent 
of  Baton  Rouge  to  guide  him,  Mathews  natu 
rally  supposed  that  the  secret  and  ambiguously 
worded  instructions  under  which  he  had  gone  to 
Fernandina  meant  that  he  was  to  take  possession 
of  East  Florida,  and  he  was  strengthened  in  this 
supposition  by  the  condition  of  affairs  that  he 
found  there.  St.  Mary's  River  was  filled  with 
British  vessels  engaged  in  smuggling  British  mer 
chandise  into  the  United  States  in  defiance  of  the 
Embargo  Act,  while  Amelia  Island  was  a  notori 
ous  rendezvous  for  smugglers,  upon  whom  the 
Spanish  authorities  looked  with  marked  toler 
ance,  if,  indeed,  they  did  not  lend  them  actual 
assistance.  As  soon  as  the  Americans  took 
possession  a  custom-house  was  established,  the 
smuggling  promptly  ceased,  and  over  the  fort 
was  raised  a  flag  bearing  the  inscription:  "Fox 
populi  lex  salutis"  Though  the  uneducated 
frontiersmen  were  a  trifle  hazy  as  to  the  motto's 
meaning,  it  sounded  well  and  lent  a  certain  air 
of  dignity  to  the  proceedings.  The  next  move  of 
the  insurgents,  now  become  eight  hundred  strong 

99 


The  Road  to  Glory 

by  reinforcements  from  Georgia,  was  to  besiege  the 
Spanish  governor  in  St.  Augustine,  for  Mathews, 
confident  that  Congress  would  pass  a  bill  sanc 
tioning  his  seizure  of  the  province,  ran  things 
with  a  high  hand.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  such  a 
bill  was  passed  by  the  House  in  secret  session, 
but  was  rejected  by  the  Senate,  whereupon  Pres 
ident  Madison  disavowed  the  act  of  Mathews  and 
ordered  him  to  evacuate  the  territory  he  had  seized 
—probably  because  it  was  deemed  unwise  to  pro 
voke  hostilities  with  another  power  at  the  very 
moment  we  had  declared  war  on  England.  But 
the  conquest  of  Florida  was  not  abandoned — 
merely  postponed. 

A  century  ago  the  region  south  of  the  Ten 
nessee  River  was  popularly  known  as  "the  Creek 
country."  Because  it  lay  directly  athwart  the 
best  water  communications  between  the  settle 
ments  in  Tennessee  and  the  outside  world,  and 
because  its  lands  were  among  the  most  fertile  in 
the  South,  the  eyes  of  the  American  pioneers  were 
turned  covetously  upon  it.  Now,  no  one  realized 
better  than  the  Creeks  themselves  that  if  they 
were  to  hold  their  lands  they  must  fight  for  them. 
Their  decision  to  resist  American  encroachments 
was  strengthened  by  the  appearance  among  them 
of  the  great  northern  chieftain,  Tecumseh.  In 

100 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a 

October,  1811,  this  remarkable  man,  in  pursuance 
of  his  scheme  for  uniting  the  red  men  from  the 
Great  Lakes  to  the  Gulf  in  an  Indian  confeder 
acy  for  the  purpose  of  resisting  the  white  man's 
further  progress  westward,  suddenly  appeared  at 
a  Creek  council  held  on  the  upper  Tallapoosa. 
Perhaps  the  most  brilliant  orator  the  Indian  race 
has  ever  produced  and  gifted  with  extraordinary 
personal  magnetism,  he  held  his  audience  spell 
bound  as,  standing  in  the  circle  of  light  thrown 
by  the  council-fire,  ringed  about  by  row  on  row 
of  blanketed  and  feathered  warriors,  he  outlined 
his  scheme  for  a  union  of  all  the  Indians  of  the 
West  in  a  confederation  powerful  enough  to  bid 
defiance  to  the  white  man.  Standing  like  a  bronze 
statue,  the  firelight  playing  on  his  haughty  fea 
tures,  his  copper  skin,  and  the  single  eagle  feather 
slanting  in  his  hair,  he  held  aloft  his  war-club; 
then,  finger  by  finger,  he  slowly  relaxed  his  grasp 
until  it  crashed  to  the  ground.  By  that  signifi 
cant  pantomime,  so  powerful  in  its  appeal  to  the 
primitive  intellects  of  his  hearers,  he  drove  home 
with  telling  effect  the  weakness  which  comes  from 
disunion.  Though  a  few  weeks  later,  on  the  banks 
of  the  Tippecanoe  River,  William  Henry  Harri 
son  broke  Tecumseh's  power  forever  and  drove 
him  from  American  soil,  he  had  aroused  in  the 

101 


the  Road  to  Glory 

Creeks  a  determination  to  retain  their  lands  or 
to  go  down  upon  them  fighting. 

Meanwhile  British  agents  had  been  secretly  at 
work  among  the  discontented  Creeks,  whooping 
them  on  to  a  campaign  of  extermination  against 
the  American  settlers  and  supplying  them  with 
arms  and  ammunition  in  return  for  the  promise 
of  their  assistance  in  the  war  which  every  one 
realized  was  now  at  hand.  On  the  i8th  of  June, 
1812,  Congress  declared  war  on  England,  and  a 
week  later  every  Creek  fighting  man  was  daub 
ing  the  war-paint  on  his  copper  skin.  Though 
the  danger  of  a  war  with  the  Creeks  was  perfectly 
understood  in  Washington,  the  military  authori 
ties  were  too  busy  pushing  forward  their  prepara 
tions  for  an  invasion  of  Canada  to  spare  much 
thought  for  the  settlers  dwelling  along  our  un 
protected  southern  frontier.  But  the  Indians, 
under  the  leadership  of  the  half-breed  war-chief 
Weatherford,  had  nothing  to  divert  their  atten 
tion  from  the  business  in  hand. 

A  pioneer  farmer  named  Samuel  Mimms  had 
built  a  stockade  for  the  protection  of  his  cattle 
on  Lake  Tensaw,  twenty  miles  or  so  north  of 
Mobile,  and  here  the  settlers  of  the  surrounding 
region  had  taken  refuge,  Governor  Claiborne,  of 
Louisiana,  hurrying  a  small  force  of  militia  under 

1 02 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

Major  Beasley  to  protect  them.  In  August,  1813, 
the  place,  popularly  known  as  Fort  Mimms,  shel 
tered  within  its  log  stockade  five  hundred  and 
fifty-three  persons:  soldiers  and  settlers,  men, 
women,  and  children.  Although  Governor  Clai- 
borne  had  himself  visited  the  post  during  the  pre 
ceding  month  and  had  urged  on  its  commander 
the  necessity  for  the  most  unrelaxing  vigilance, 
Beasley  and  his  men  evidently  came  to  look  upon 
the  affair  as  a  false  alarm  as  the  summer  days 
slipped  by  without  bringing  any  signs  of  hostile 
Indians.  So  cocksure  did  they  become,  indeed, 
that  even  after  a  friendly  Indian  had  brought 
word  that  the  Creeks  were  preparing  to  attack 
the  place  they  continued  to  leave  the  gates  of 
the  stockade  unguarded  during  the  day.  They 
paid  a  fearful  price  for  their  negligence,  however. 
At  noon  on  the  3Oth  of  August,  when  the  occu 
pants  of  the  fort  were  at  their  dinner,  a  thousand 
fiends  in  paint  and  feathers  slipped  like  shadows 
from  the  gloom  of  the  encircling  forest,  sped  on 
noiseless,  moccasined  feet  across  the  strip  of  cul 
tivated  ground  without  the  walls,  and,  before  the 
demoralized  garrison  realized  what  had  happened, 
were  pouring  through  the  unguarded  entrance  in 
a  howling,  shrieking  wave  like  demons  pouring 
through  the  gates  of  hell.  Though  taken  com- 

103 


The  Road  to  Glory 

pletely  by  surprise  and  outnumbered  five  to  one, 
the  garrison  put  up  a  most  desperate  and  gal 
lant  resistance.  The  scene  was  dreadful  beyond 
imagination.  It  was  hand-to-hand  fighting  in 
its  bloodiest  form:  bayonets  against  war-clubs, 
muskets  against  tomahawks,  pistols  against  knives. 
Increasing  the  horror  of  the  situation  a  hundred 
fold  were  the  women  and  children,  for  there  was 
no  question  as  to  their  fate  if  the  Indians  were 
victorious.  Beasley  fell  at  the  first  attack  and 
every  officer  died  at  the  gateway  in  a  vain  at 
tempt  to  stem  the  Indian  rush.  A  young  lieu 
tenant,  badly  wounded,  was  carried  by  two 
women  to  a  blockhouse,  but  when  he  was  a 
little  revived  insisted  on  being  taken  back  that 
he  might  die  with  his  comrades  on  the  fighting 
line.  Though  hopeless  from  the  first,  the  defense 
was  prolonged  for  hours;  for  after  the  men  of  the 
garrison  had  fallen,  the  women  and  children  shut 
themselves  up  in  one  of  the  blockhouses,  where 
they  held  off  the  yelling  savages  with  the  cour 
age  of  despair.  Finally,  however,  the  Indians, 
by  means  of  burning  arrows,  succeeded  in  set 
ting  the  building  on  fire,  and  after  that  it  was 
no  longer  a  battle  but  a  butchery.  Of  the  five 
hundred  and  fifty-three  people  within  the  fort, 
only  twelve  escaped.  It  was  a  dearly  bought  vic- 

104 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

tory  for  the  Indians,  however,  for  piled  around 
the  gateway  were  four  hundred  of  their  best 
fighting  men. 

From  one  end  of  the  border  to  the  other  rose 
the  cry  for  vengeance.  Nor  was  it  long  in  com 
ing.  The  legislature  of  Tennessee  voted  to  raise 
men  and  money  to  wipe  out  the  Creeks,  and  called 
for  volunteers.  Jumping  at  this  chance  to  even 
up  old  scores  with  the  Indians,  the  frontiersmen, 
their  long  squirrel  rifles  on  their  shoulders  and 
clad  in  their  serviceable  buckskin  dress,  came 
pouring  in  to  offer  their  services  in  the  campaign 
of  retribution.  The  command  of  the  expedition 
was  given  to  a  brigadier-general  of  Tennessee 
militia  who  up  to  that  time  had  scarcely  been 
heard  of  outside  the  borders  of  his  own  State. 
He  was  a  tall,  emaciated  figure  of  a  man,  with  a 
clean-shaven,  sallow  face,  a  jaw  like  a  bear-trap, 
a  great  beak  of  a  nose,  eyes  as  penetrating  as 
gimlets  and  as  cold  as  a  winter's  morning,  and  a 
shock  of  unkempt  sandy  hair  just  beginning  to 
gray  under  his  forty-seven  years.  He  was  not 
at  all  the  sort  of  man  that  a  stranger  would  slap 
on  the  back  and  address  by  his  first  name — at 
least  he  would  not  do  it  a  second  time.  His 
garments  were  as  severe  and  businesslike  as  the 
man  himself:  a  much-worn  leather  cap,  a  short, 

105 


The  Road  to  Glory 

Spanish  cloak  of  frayed  blue  cloth,  and  great  un 
polished  boots  whose  tops  swayed  uneasily  about 
his  bony  knees.  He  carried  his  arm  in  a  sling 
as  the  result  of  a  pistol  wound  received  during 
a  brawl  in  a  Nashville  tavern.  Everything  con 
sidered,  this  man  who  had  been  chosen  to  strike 
terror  to  the  Creeks  was  a  strange  and  striking 
figure.  You  may  have  heard  of  him — his  name 
was  Andrew  Jackson. 

This  was  the  extraordinary  man  who,  early  in 
the  autumn  of  1813,  took  the  field  at  the  head 
of  three  thousand  volunteers  as  rough  and  ready 
as  himself.  A  vast  amount  of  nonsense  has  been 
written  about  pioneer  troops.  Though  some  of 
the  most  brilliant  and  daring  campaigns  in  which 
Americans  have  borne  a  part  were  carried  through 
by  soldiers  recruited  on  the  frontier  and  though 
the  marching  and  fighting  qualities  of  these  men 
have  been  surpassed  by  no  troops  on  earth,  they 
were,  on  the  other  hand,  nearly  always  insubor 
dinate,  contemptuous  of  discipline,  impudent  to 
their  officers,  quickly  homesick,  and  very  depen 
dent  for  success  on  enthusiasm  for  their  leaders. 
Jackson  was  the  best  man  that  could  possibly 
have  been  chosen  to  command  such  troops  as 
these,  for  he  had  been  born  and  brought  up  on 
the  frontier,  he  understood  the  men  with  whom 

106 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

he  was  dealing,  and  managed  them  with  energy, 
firmness,  and  tact.  He  rarely  had  any  difficulty 
in  filling  his  ranks,  for  he  permitted  no  obstacles 
to  deter  him  from  reaching  and  crushing  an 
enemy;  hence  the  men  who  followed  him  in  his 
campaigns  always  had  stories  to  relate  and  were 
looked  upon  as  heroes  in  the  settlements.  To  be 
pointed  out  as  "one  of  Andy  Jackson's  men" 
came  to  be  looked  upon  as  as  great  an  honor  as 
the  scarlet  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor  is  in 
France. 

Jackson's  plan  of  campaign  provided  for  the 
construction  of  a  military  road,  fifty  miles  in 
length,  from  the  Tennessee  to  the  Coosa,  whence, 
after  building  a  fortified  base  of  supplies,  he 
planned  to  make  a  quick  dash  southward,  spread 
ing  death  and  destruction  as  he  went,  until  he 
dictated  peace  on  the  Hickory  Ground.  The 
Hickory  Ground,  which  lay  at  the  junction  of 
the  Alabama  and  the  Coosa,  near  the  present 
site  of  Montgomery,  was  the  headquarters  of 
the  Creek  confederacy  and  a  place  of  refuge,  the 
Indian  medicine-men  having  asserted  that  no 
white  could  set  foot  upon  its  sacred  soil  and  live. 
Jackson,  as  I  have  already  remarked,  permitted 
no  obstacles  to  deter  him.  So,  when  his  engineers 
reported  that  it  was  not  feasible  to  build  a  road 

107 


The  Road  to  Glory 

through  the  unmapped  wilderness,  he  took  the 
matter  out  of  their  hands  and  built  the  road  him 
self.  And  when  the  contractors  assured  him  that 
it  was  out  of  the  question  to  transport  supplies 
for  three  thousand  men  to  the  Coosa  within  the 
time  he  had  specified,  he  commandeered  horses 
and  wagons  and  did  that,  too.  When  one  of  his 
regiments  attempted  to  settle  a  dispute  over  the 
term  of  enlistment  by  turning  about  and  march 
ing  home,  Jackson,  his  left  arm  still  disabled  and 
in  a  sling,  snatched  a  musket  from  a  soldier  with 
his  right  hand  and,  using  the  neck  of  his  horse 
for  a  rest,  covered  with  his  weapon  the  column  of 
sullen,  scowling  mutineers.  With  eyes  flashing 
and  frame  quivering  with  passion,  he  single-handed 
held  the  disaffected  regiment  at  bay,  shouting 
shrilly,  with  a  volley  of  oaths,  that  he  would  let 
daylight  into  the  first  man  who  stirred.  Colonels 
Reid  and  Coffee,  learning  of  the  mutiny,  came 
galloping  up  from  the  rear  and  took  their  stand 
by  the  side  of  their  commander,  while  some  loyal 
companies  formed  up  across  the  road  with  weapons 
levelled,  seeing  which  the  mutineers  changed  their 
minds  as  to  the  wisdom  of  going  home  and  sul 
lenly  marched  on. 

He  first  met  the  Creeks  on  the  3d  of  Novem 
ber  at  Talluschatches — now  Jacksonville,  Ala. — 

108 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

and  promptly  attacked  them  with  a  thousand 
mounted  men.  No  quarter  was  asked  and  none 
was  given,  and  when  the  battle  was  over  not 
an  Indian  brave  was  left  alive.  Six  days  later, 
at  Talladega,  he  swooped  down  upon  a  war  party 
of  a  thousand  Creeks  who  had  surrounded  a  band 
of  friendly  Indians  and  sent  a  third  of  them  to 
the  happy  hunting-grounds.  At  the  same  time 
General  John  Floyd  invaded  the  Creek  country 
from  Georgia  at  the  head  of  a  punitive  expedi 
tion,  while  from  the  west  also  came  an  avenging 
column  under  Governor  Claiborne,  of  Louisiana. 
The  latter  discovered  a  town  of  refuge,  called 
Econochaca,  on  the  Alabama.  It  was  built  on 
holy  ground,  the  Indian  prophets  said,  and,  as 
a  result  of  the  spells  they  had  cast  over  it,  it  was 
safe  from  paleface  invasion.  The  Americans  ar 
rived  not  an  instant  too  soon,  for,  guided  by  the 
throbbing  of  the  war-drums,  they  burst  into  the 
village  to  find  the  Indians,  their  ringed  and 
streaked  bodies  more  fiendish  still  in  the  glare 
of  a  great  fire,  whooping  and  capering  about  a 
row  of  stakes  to  which  were  bound  white  cap 
tives  of  both  sexes,  ready  to  be  burned.  When 
Claiborne's  men  finished  their  work,  the  "holy 
ground"  was  carpeted  with  Indian  dead,  and  the 
medicine-men  who  had  boasted  that  it  was  im- 

109 


The  Road  to  Glory 

mune  from  invasion  were  themselves  scalped  and 
staring  corpses. 

Nothing  more  graphically  illustrates  the  sav 
agery  and  determination  with  which  the  American 
frontiersmen  prosecuted  their  campaign  against 
the  Indians  than  the  story  of  Sam  Dale's  canoe 
fight.  Dale,  who  was  a  veritable  Hercules  of  a 
man,  while  scouting  with  some  companions  in 
advance  of  Jackson's  army,  saw  floating  down  the 
Alabama  a  war  canoe  containing  eleven  Creeks. 
Ambushing  themselves  amid  the  bushes  on  the 
bank,  the  Americans  poured  in  a  volley  as  the 
canoe  swept  by  and  five  of  the  Indians  fell  dead. 
Then  Dale  pushed  off  in  a  small  boat  with  three 
men  to  finish  up  the  business.  Ordering  one  of 
his  companions  to  hold  the  boats  together,  the 
big  frontiersman  went  at  the  Indians  with  his 
bayonet  like  a  field-hand  with  his  pitchfork  load 
ing  hay.  Throwing  caution  to  the  winds  in  his 
lust  of  battle,  he  advanced  upon  the  Indians 
single-handed,  and  before  he  had  time  to  realize 
his  peril  and  retreat  the  current  had  swept  the 
canoes  apart,  leaving  him  in  the  larger  one  con 
fronting  the  six  remaining  Creeks.  Two  of  them 
were  shot  by  his  companions  in  the  other  boat, 
three  more  he  accounted  for  himself,  the  only  one 
left  alive  being  a  famous  Indian  wrestler  named 
Tar-cha-cha. 

no 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

"Big  Sam !"  the  Indian  shouted,  "I  am  a  man  ! 
.  .  .  I  am  coming!  .  .  .  Come  on!"  Clubbing 
his  rifle,  he  rushed  forward,  dealing  Dale  a  blow 
which  broke  his  shoulder  and  nearly  sent  him 
into  the  river,  but  before  he  could  get  in  another 
the  frontiersman  drove  his  bayonet  home  and 
ended  the  fight. 

The  early  months  of  1814  were  a  time  of  the 
most  intense  anxiety  to  Jackson,  for,  the  terms  of 
enlistment  of  his  volunteers  expiring,  they  in 
sisted  on  returning  to  their  homes,  until  at  one 
brief  period  he  found  himself  in  the  heart  of  the 
Indian  country  with  less  than  a  hundred  men. 
Physical  suffering  as  well  as  anxiety  marked  this 
period  of  the  campaign — privation,  exhaustion, 
irritation,  and  the  drain  of  a  slowly  healing  wound 
producing  serious  effects  on  a  system  which  was 
habitually  on  the  verge  of  collapse.  It  was,  in 
deed,  only  his  cast-iron  will  that  sustained  him, 
for  during  one  period  of  anxiety  he  slept  but 
three  hours  in  four  nights.  But  with  the  coming 
of  spring  the  feet  of  the  young  men  became  rest 
less  for  the  forest  trails  again,  and  by  the  middle 
of  March,  his  ranks  filled  once  more,  he  was 
ready  to  deliver  his  final  blow.  The  Creeks  had 
by  this  time  abandoned  their  campaign  of  ag 
gression  and,  falling  back  to  their  stronghold  of 

in 


The  Road  to  Glory 

Tohopeka,  on  the  Tallapoosa,  known  to  the  whites 
as  the  Horseshoe  Bend,  they  prepared  to  make 
their  last  stand. 

On  the  morning  of  March  27,  1814,  Jackson's 
skirmishers  came  within  sight  of  the  Indian  en 
campment.  On  a  peninsula  formed  by  a  horse 
shoe-like  bend  of  the  river,  a  thousand  warriors 
with  three  hundred  of  their  women  and  children 
were  encamped.  They  comprised  the  very  flower 
of  the  Creek  nation,  or  rather,  all  that  was  left 
of  it.  The  neck  of  the  peninsula  was  only  four 
hundred  yards  wide,  and  across  it  the  Creeks, 
profiting  by  the  lessons  they  had  received  from 
their  Spanish  and  British  allies,  had  built  a  zig 
zag  wall  of  logs,  eight  feet  high  and  pierced  by  a 
double  row  of  loopholes.  The  angles  formed  by 
the  zigzags  enabled  the  defenders  to  sweep  with 
a  deadly  cross-fire  the  ground  over  which  an  at 
tacking  column  must  advance,  while  trees  had 
been  felled  at  intervals  in  such  fashion  that  their 
interlaced  branches  provided  admirable  cover  for 
sharpshooters.  All  in  all,  it  was  a  tough  nut  that 
Jackson  found  himself  called  upon  to  crack.  But 
cracking  that  particular  kind  of  nuts  was  a  spe 
cialty  of  Jackson's.  His  artillery  consisted  of  two 
small  brass  field-pieces,  not  much  larger  than  those 
employed  on  yachts  for  saluting  purposes.  Send- 

112 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

ing  Colonel  Coffee  across  the  river  with  his  cavalry 
to  cut  off  the  escape  of  the  Indians  in  that  direc 
tion,  Jackson  planted  his  miniature  field-guns  on  a 
little  hill  only  eighty  yards  from  the  Creek  forti 
fications.  Either  the  guns  must  have  been  very 
weak  or  the  fortifications  very  strong,  for  after  a 
two-hours'  bombardment  no  appreciable  damage 
had  been  done.  Then  Jackson,  who  was  always 
for  getting  to  hand-grips  with  an  enemy,  told  his 
men  to  go  in  and  do  the  job  with  the  bayonet. 
Whereupon  the  Tennesseeans,  who  had  been  as 
fidgety  and  impatient  as  hounds  in  leash,  swept 
forward  with  a  whoop.  As  regardless  of  the  wither 
ing  fire  poured  into  them  as  if  it  had  been  hail 
stones  instead  of  bullets,  they  hacked  their  way 
through  the  abatis  of  branches  and  clambered  over 
the  wall,  shooting,  bayonetting,  clubbing  with  a  fe 
rocity  which  matched  that  of  the  Indians.  And, 
imitating  the  customs  of  the  savages  they  had 
been  fighting  for  so  long,  many  of  the  frontiers 
men  paused  to  scalp  the  Indians  that  they  killed. 
For  the  Creeks  it  was  a  hopeless  struggle  from 
the  first,  but  they  were  not  of  a  breed  that,  find 
ing  themselves  beaten,  whined  for  mercy.  Re 
treating  to  such  protection  as  the  place  afforded, 
they  fought  and  kept  on  fighting  even  after  a  flag 
of  truce  had  been  sent  them  with  an  offer  to  ac- 

"3 


The  Road  to  Glory 

cept  their  surrender.  By  three  o'clock  the  battle 
of  the  Horseshoe  Bend  had  become  a  part  of  the 
history  of  the  frontier.  So  completely  had  Jack 
son  done  his  work  that  only  twenty  Indians  es 
caped.  Eight  hundred  copper-colored  corpses  lay 
upon  the  blood-soaked  ground  beside  the  Talla- 
poosa;  the  rest  were  prisoners.  It  is  a  signifi 
cant  fact  that  there  were  no  wounded  among  the 
Indians.  The  Americans  had  nearly  two  hun 
dred  killed  and  wounded,  among  the  latter  be 
ing  Jackson  himself  and  a  youngster  named  Sam 
Houston,  who,  in  after  years,  was  to  win  fame 
fighting  a  no  less  savage  foe  on  the  banks  of  the 
Rio  Grande. 

The  battle  of  the  Horseshoe  Bend  broke  the 
Creek  power  of  resistance  for  good  and  all.  Since 
the  commencement  of  hostilities  they  had  lost  in 
battle  nearly  three-fourths  of  all  their  fighting 
men.  The  rest,  not  much  more  than  a  thou 
sand  in  all,  fled  to  their  cousins,  the  Seminoles, 
in  Florida,  where  they  promptly  began  hatching 
plans  for  vengeance.  On  the  ist  of  August, 
Jackson  sent  word  to  such  of  the  chieftains  as 
had  not  fled  into  Spanish  territory  to  meet  him 
on  the  Hickory  Ground.  Here  he  received  their 
submission  and  here  he  imposed  on  them  his 
terms  of  peace.  His  demands  were  so  rigorous 

114 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

as  to  bring  a  gasp  of  astonishment  even  from  the 
Americans,  for  he  insisted  on  the  cession  of  an 
L-shaped  tract  of  land  which  included  more  than 
half  the  territory  of  the  Creeks,  thus  forming  a 
barrier  between  them  and  the  Choctaws  and 
Chickasaws  on  the  west  and  the  Spaniards  in 
Florida. 

Jackson  now  turned  his  face  toward  Nashville. 
He  had  ridden  out  of  there  an  unpopular  and 
almost  unknown  officer  of  militia.  He  returned 
to  find  himself  a  military  hero,  the  stories  of 
whose  exploits  were  retailed  in  every  settler's 
cabin  from  one  end  of  the  frontier  to  the  other. 
In  recognition  of  his  services,  the  President  com 
missioned  him  a  major-general  in  the  regular 
army  and  gave  him  command  of  the  Department 
of  the  South,  with  headquarters  at  Mobile.  Our 
second  war  with  England  had  now  been  dragging 
its  tedious  course  along  for  nearly  two  years, 
marked  by  British  successes  on  land  and  Ameri 
can  victories  on  the  sea.  The  air  was  filled  with 
rumors  of  a  great  British  armada  which  was  on 
its  way  to  attack  New  Orleans,  and  these  solidi 
fied  into  fact  when  word  reached  Jackson  that  a 
portion  of  the  British  fleet  had  anchored  in  the 
harbor  of  Pensacola  and  proposed,  in  defiance  of 
Spanish  neutrality,  to  use  that  port  as  a  base  of 

"5 


The  Road  to  Glory 

operations  against  the  United  States.  Pensacola 
was  in  Florida,  and  Florida  was  still  owned  by 
Spain,  and  Spain  was  professedly  a  neutral;  but 
if  the  British  could  violate  that  neutrality,  ar 
gued  Jackson,  why,  so  could  the  Americans.  With 
out  waiting  for  authority  from  Washington  (and 
it  was  well  that  he  did  not,  for  the  city  had 
been  burned  by  the  British  and  the  government 
had  fled),  Jackson  crossed  the  Mobile  River  and 
invaded  Spanish  territory  at  the  head  of  three 
thousand  veterans.  On  November  6  he  was  at 
the  walls  of  Pensacola.  A  messenger  was  sent 
to  the  Spanish  governor  under  a  flag  of  truce 
with  a  peremptory  demand  from  Jackson  that 
the  fortress  be  turned  over  to  the  United  States 
until  such  time  as  the  Spanish  were  strong  enough 
to  maintain  the  neutrality  of  the  port.  The  gov 
ernor,  emboldened  by  the  fact  that  seven  British 
war-ships  were  lying  in  the  harbor,  showed  his  de 
fiance  by  firing  upon  the  flag  of  truce.  But  he 
didn't  know  the  type  of  man  that  he  was  defy 
ing.  Jackson  was  no  more  awed  by  the  might  of 
England  or  the  majesty  of  Spain  or  the  sacred- 
ness  of  neutral  territory  than  he  had  been  by  the 
Indians'  "holy  ground."  Instantly  he  ordered 
forward  his  storming  parties.  So  sudden  was  his 
attack  that  the  British  ships  had  no  time  to 

116 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

up  anchor  and  bring  their  guns  to  bear  for  the 
protection  of  the  town.  The  Spanish  soldiery 
fought  well,  however,  and  a  sharp  battle  ensued 
in  the  streets,  the  batteries  opening  on  the  ad 
vancing  Americans  with  solid  shot  and  grape 
while  a  heavy  fire  of  musketry  was  poured  into 
them  from  houses  and  gardens.  But  the  Span 
iards  were  driven  back  everywhere  by  the  fierce 
ness  of  the  American  assault,  whereupon  the  gov 
ernor,  seeing  that  further  resistance  was  useless, 
sent  a  messenger  to  the  American  commander  to 
inquire  what  terms  he  would  grant  him.  "Noth 
ing  but  unconditional  surrender,"  answered  Jack 
son,  and  the  haughty  Spaniard  had  no  alternative 
but  to  accept  his  terms.  Slowly  the  flag  of 
Spain,  which  had  flaunted  defiantly  above  the 
fort,  sank  down  the  staff  and  in  its  stead  rose  a 
flag  of  stripes  and  stars.  The  machinery  of  con 
quest,  with  Andrew  Jackson  at  the  crank,  had 
pared  off  another  slice  of  Florida. 

Jackson's  capture  of  the  fortifications  having 
made  the  harbor  untenable,  the  British  blew  up 
the  Spanish  forts  at  the  Barrancas,  which  com 
manded  the  harbor  entrance,  and  departed, 
whereupon  Jackson  evacuated  the  town.  His 
work  in  Pensacola  was  finished.  Eight  weeks 
later  (January  8,  1815)  he  won  his  immortal  vic- 

117 


The  Road  to  Glory 

tory  at  New  Orleans,  with  his  untrained  frontiers 
men  and  scanty  resources  meeting  and  annihilat 
ing  the  British  regiments  that  had  conquered 
Napoleon.  At  a  single  bound  he  leaped  from 
the  status  of  a  backwoods  soldier  to  one  of  the 
great  leaders  of  his  time. 

But  the  victory  at  New  Orleans  and  the 
treaty  of  peace  with  England  did  not  mean  the 
end  of  fighting  for  Jackson.  There  were  still 
several  odd  jobs  to  be  done.  During  the  war  a 
British  colonel  named  Nicholls  had  been  sent  on 
a  secret  mission  to  Florida  in  an  attempt  to  in 
cite  the  Seminoles,  the  fugitive  Creeks,  and  the 
runaway  negroes  who  infested  the  northern  part 
of  the  province  to  harass  the  borders  of  the  United 
States.  While  in  Florida  he  built  a  fort  on  the 
Appalachicola  River,  not  far  above  its  mouth  and 
well  within  Spanish  territory,  and  collected  there 
a  large  store  of  arms  and  ammunition.  When  the 
war  ended  and  Colonel  Nicholls  was  recalled,  he 
turned  the  fort  over  to  the  Seminoles  in  the  hope 
that  it  would  prove  a  thorn  in  the  side  of  the 
United  States.  From  the  Seminoles  the  place 
passed  into  the  hands  of  the  negro  refugees  and 
quickly  became  a  source  of  anxiety  to  the  Ameri 
can  military  authorities  on  our  southern  border. 
But,  though  it  was  garrisoned  by  escaped  slaves 

118 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

and  was  a  constant  menace  to  the  peace  of  the 
frontier,  the  Americans  were  powerless — accord 
ing  to  international  law,  at  least — because  it  was 
built  on  Spanish  soil.  But  when  the  matter  was 
referred  to  Jackson  he  showed  how  much  he  cared 
for  international  law  by  writing  to  General  Gaines 
that  the  "Negro  Fort,"  as  it  was  called,  "ought 
to  be  blown  up,  regardless  of  the  ground  on  which 
it  stands."  That  was  all  the  hint  that  Gaines 
needed,  and  in  July,  1816,  he  ordered  an  expedi 
tion  under  Colonel  Duncan  Clinch  to  ascend  the 
river  and  destroy  the  fort.  As  the  flotilla  ap 
proached,  a  boat's  crew  which  had  been  sent  for 
ward  to  reconnoitre  was  fired  upon,  whereupon 
the  gunboats  were  warped  up-stream  until  they 
were  within  range.  The  bombardment  was  of 
short  duration,  for  scarcely  had  the  gunboats 
opened  fire  before  a  red-hot  shot  struck  the  mag 
azine  of  the  fort,  where  eight  hundred  barrels 
of  gunpowder  were  stored.  In  the  explosion  that 
followed,  the  fort  vanished  from  the  earth,  and  for 
some  moments  it  fairly  rained  negroes — or  parts 
of  them.  Of  the  three  hundred  and  thirty-four 
inmates  of  the  fort,  two  hundred  and  seventy 
were  blown  to  kingdom  come,  and  of  the  sixty- 
four  left  alive,  all  but  three  were  so  terribly  in 
jured  that  they  died — which  was  just  as  well, 

119 


The  Road  to  Glory 

perhaps,  in  view  of  what  happened  to  two  out 
of  the  three  survivors.  These,  an  Indian  chief 
and  Gar^on,  the  negro  commander,  were  handed 
over  to  some  friendly  Seminoles  to  be  put  to  death 
in  the  ingenious  Indian  fashion  in  retaliation  for 
the  death  by  torture  of  one  of  the  American 
sailors,  who  had  been  taken  prisoner  a  few  days 
before.  From  all  accounts,  the  Seminoles  per 
formed  their  task  well  but  slowly. 

The  destruction  of  the  Negro  Fort,  though  un 
important  in  itself,  served  to  stir  up  the  uneasi 
ness  and  discontent  which  prevailed  along  the 
Florida  border  and  which  was  shared  in  by 
Creeks,  Seminoles,  Spaniards,  and  Americans. 
By  March,  1817,  several  thousand  whites  had 
settled  on  the  rich  lands  that  Jackson  had  taken 
from  the  Creeks,  and  the  friction  which  quickly 
developed  between  the  new  owners  and  the  old 
ones,  now  fugitives  in  Florida,  resulted  in  a  series 
of  defiances  and  depredations.  While  relations 
with  the  Indians  were  thus  strained  almost  to 
the  breaking  point  there  again  sprang  up  the  his 
toric  irritation  against  Spain,  whom  the  Ameri 
can  settlers  accused,  rightly  or  wrongly,  of  in 
citing  the  Indians  against  them.  Meanwhile 
President  Monroe  was  negotiating  for  the  pur 
chase  of  Florida,  for  he  fully  realized  that  there 

120 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

could  be  no  permanent  peace  along  the  border  as 
long  as  that  province  remained  in  Spanish  hands. 
Doubtful  of  his  success,  however,  he  took  care  to 
see  that  an  army  under  Jackson  was  stationed 
within  striking  distance,  for  there  is  no  doubt 
that  the  government,  now  that  the  war  with  Eng 
land  was  over,  was  determined  to  take  Florida  by 
force  if  it  could  not  be  obtained  by  purchase. 
Nor  could  anything  give  Jackson  keener  satisfac 
tion  than  the  prospect  of  once  more  getting  his 
hands  on  the  rich  prize  which  he  had  joyfully 
held  for  a  brief  moment  in  1814.  Indeed,  he 
frankly  expressed  his  attitude  when  he  wrote  to 
President  Monroe:  "Let  it  be  signified  to  me, 
through  any  channel,  that  the  possession  of  the 
Floridas  would  be  desirable  to  the  United  States, 
and  in  sixty  days  it  will  be  accomplished."  In 
other  words,  if  the  government  wished  to  seize 
the  province  but  lacked  the  courage  to  take  the 
responsibility,  Jackson  was  ready  to  do  the  job 
himself. 

But  suddenly  a  new  element  was  injected  into 
the  already  complicated  situation.  The  series  of 
revolts  against  Spanish  rule  in  South  America  had 
attracted  thither  European  adventurers,  free 
lances,  and  soldiers  of  fortune  of  many  nationali 
ties,  and  these,  when  the  revolutionary  business 

121 


The  Road  to  Glory 

grew  dull  in  other  places,  turned  their  eyes  to 
ward  Florida.  It  had  a  fertile  soil,  marvellous 
vegetation,  a  healthful  climate,  a  notoriously  weak 
government,  and,  everything  considered,  seemed 
to  have  been  made  to  order  for  the  filibusters. 
The  first  to  make  the  attempt  to  "free"  Florida 
was  a  Scottish  nobleman,  Sir  Gregor  MacGregor. 
No  more  picturesque  character  ever  swaggered 
across  the  pages  of  our  history.  He  was  a  pro 
totype  of  Kipling's  "The  Man  Who  Would  Be 
King."  Resigning  his  commission  in  the  British 
army,  he  went  to  Caracas  in  1811  and  offered  his 
services  to  the  Venezuelans  in  their  struggle  for 
independence.  He  became  adjutant-general  to 
Miranda  and,  upon  the  capture  of  that  ill-fated 
leader,  repeatedly  distinguished  himself  in  the  re 
newed  struggle  under  Bolivar.  He  led  a  hand 
ful  of  Venezuelans  from  Ocumare  to  Barce 
lona  in  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  skilfully 
conducted  retreats  in  history  and,  upon  Venezuela 
achieving  her  independence,  was  publicly  thanked 
for  his  services  by  President  Bolivar,  commis 
sioned  a  general  of  division,  and  decorated  with 
the  Order  of  Libertadores.  But  an  ineradicable 
love  of  adventure  ran  in  his  veins;  so,  when  peace 
settled  for  a  time  on  war-torn  Venezuela  Mac 
Gregor  looked  elsewhere  for  excitement.  Florida 

122 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

was  still  under  the  obnoxious  rule  of  Spain,  and 
Florida,  he  decided,  needed  to  be  freed.  Early 
in  1817,  therefore,  he  fitted  out  an  expedition  in 
Baltimore  and  descended  upon  Fernandina,  which, 
as  I  have  previously  remarked,  is  built  on  the 
twenty-two-mile-long  Amelia  Island,  off  Florida's 
upper  right-hand  corner.  MacGregor  declared 
that  as  soon  as  he  achieved  the  independence  of 
the  province  he  intended  to  hand  it  over  to  the 
United  States,  which  was  certainly  thoughtful 
and  considerate,  seeing  how  much  the  United 
States  wanted  it;  but  nobody  seems  to  have  be 
lieved  him.  His  intentions  were  of  small  conse 
quence,  however,  for  a  few  months  after  he  had 
seized  the  island  and  raised  the  green-cross  flag, 
along  came  another  adventurer,  an  Englishman 
named  Hubbard,  and  drove  him  off.  Disap 
pointed  in  his  Floridan  ambitions,  MacGregor  re- 
entered  the  service  of  Venezuela,  and  in  1819, 
organizing  an  expedition  in  Jamaica,  he  eluded 
the  vigilance  of  the  British  authorities  and  made 
a  most  daring  descent  upon  Puerto  Bello,  which  he 
captured  after  a  desperate  assault,  though  sub 
sequently  he  was  surprised  by  an  overwhelming 
force  of  Spaniards  and  was  forced  to  flee.  In  1821 
he  quitted  the  service  of  Venezuela — then  become 
a  part  of  the  Colombian  Republic — and  settled 

123 


The  Road  to  Glory 

among  the  Poyais  Indians,  a  warlike  tribe  on  the 
Mosquito  Coast  of  Nicaragua,  where  he  obtained 
a  grant  of  a  tract  of  fertile  land  and,  making  him 
self  ruler  of  the  region,  assumed  the  title  of  "his 
Highness  the  MacGregor,  Cacique  of  Poyais."  He 
organized  a  government,  established  an  army,  en 
couraged  commerce  and  agriculture,  built  roads 
and  schools,  cultivated  plantations,  and  for  nearly 
twenty  years  ruled  in  middle  America  as  an  in 
dependent  and  enlightened  sovereign.  But  mis 
fortune  finally  overtook  him;  Great  Britain  de 
clared  a  protectorate  over  his  little  kingdom,  which 
was  not  abrogated  until  1905,  and  its  late  ruler 
retired  to  Caracas,  where  the  Venezuelan  Govern 
ment  granted  him  a  pension  and  restored  him  to 
his  rank  of  general  of  division,  and  where  he  died, 
generally  respected,  in  the  early  forties. 

Shortly  after  Hubbard  had  ejected  MacGregor 
from  Amelia  Island,  along  came  one  of  the  latter's 
friends  and  companions  in  arms,  Commodore  Louis 
de  Aury,  who,  as  I  have  related  in  "Adventurers 
All,"  had  himself  been  ousted  from  Galveston  Island 
by  Lafitte,  and  kicked  out  Hubbard.  De  Aury's 
plan  was  to  make  Florida  a  free  and  independent 
republic,  such  as  her  sister  provinces  in  South 
America  had  become.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  The 
government  at  Washington,  which  had  other  plans 

124 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

for  Florida,  now  decided  it  was  time  to  interfere, 
for  it  seemed  probable  that  Florida  might  soon  be 
sold  to  the  United  States,  provided  the  spirit  of 
revolution  and  independence  which  was  rapidly 
stripping  Spain  of  her  colonial  possessions  left  her 
Florida  to  sell.  Nothing  was  further  from  the  in 
tention  of  the  United  States,  therefore,  than  to 
let  these  South  American  adventurers  get  a  foot 
hold  in  the  province  she  had  so  long  had  a  cov 
etous  eye  upon;  so,  in  the  autumn  of  1817,  General 
Gaines  was  ordered  to  march  on  Fernandina  and 
eject  De  Aury,  while  a  fleet  under  Commodore 
Henley  went  down  the  coast  for  the  same  pur 
pose.  Henley  reached  there  first  and  successfully 
accomplished  the  ejection,  and  the  green-cross  flag 
of  the  filibusters  came  down  for  good  and  all. 

About  this  time  Indian  depredations  had  re 
commenced  along  the  Florida  frontier,  and  in 
November,  1817,  General  Gaines  despatched  a 
detachment  of  troops  to  an  Indian  village  called 
Fowltown,  the  headquarters  of  the  hostile  Semi- 
noles  and  Creeks.  The  troops  approached  the 
town  at  dawn  and  were  fired  upon,  the  village 
was  taken  and  burned,  and  the  United  States  had 
another  Indian  war  upon  its  hands.  Jackson  was 
immediately  ordered  to  take  command  of  the 
operations.  He  jumped  at  the  chance,  for  was 

"S 


The  Road  to  Glory 

this  not  the  very  opportunity  for  which  he  had 
been  longing  and  praying  ?  The  Indians  caused 
him  no  concern,  mind  you;  it  was  the  Spaniards 
— and  Florida — that  he  was  after.  Disregarding 
his  instructions  to  raise  his  command  from  the 
militia  of  the  border  States,  he  recruited  a  volun 
teer  force  from  the  Tennesseeans  who  had  served 
under  him  at  the  Horseshoe  Bend  and  New  Or 
leans  and  whom  he  could  count  on  to  follow  him 
anywhere,  and  with  these  veterans  at  his  back 
straightway  crossed  the  Florida  border.  On  the 
site  of  the  Negro  Fort  he  built  and  garrisoned  an 
other,  which  he  called  Fort  Gadsden — all  this  in 
Spanish  territory,  mind  you,  though  the  United 
States  was  (officially,  at  least)  at  peace  with 
Spain.  Easily  dispersing  the  few  Seminoles  who 
ventured  to  dispute  his  progress,  he  pushed  south 
ward  to  St.  Marks  (the  port  of  Tallahassee),  where 
a  war  party  of  Indians,  he  heard,  had  taken  refuge. 
The  fact  that  his  information  was  incorrect  and 
that  there  were  no  Indians  in  the  town  did  not 
disconcert  him  in  the  least:  he  took  the  place, 
hauled  down  the  Spanish  colors,  replaced  them 
with  the  stars  and  stripes,  and  left  an  American 
garrison  in  occupation.  Not  only  this,  but  he 
captured  two  Englishmen  who  had  taken  refuge 
in  the  town.  One  was  a  well-known  trader  named 

126 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

Alexander  Arbuthnot,  who  had  had  commercial 
dealings  of  one  sort  and  another  with  the  Indians; 
the  other  was  a  young  officer  of  marines  named 
Ambrister,  a  nephew  of  the  governor  of  the  Ba 
hamas,  who  had  been  suspended  from  duty  for  a 
year  for  engaging  in  a  duel  and  who  had  joined 
the  Florida  Indians  out  of  a  boyish  love  for  ad 
venture.  Though  captured  on  Spanish  soil,  Jack 
son  ordered  both  men  tried  by  court  martial  for 
inciting  the  Indians  to  rebellion.  Both  were  sen 
tenced  to  death.  Ambrister  died  before  a  firing 
party;  Arbuthnot  was  hung  from  the  yard-arm  of 
one  of  his  own  ships.  Needlessly  drastic  and  un 
questionably  illegal  as  these  executions  were,  they 
brought  home  to  those  who  were  plotting  against 
the  United  States  that  Spanish  territory  could 
not  protect  them. 

From  St.  Marks  Jackson  struck  across  coun 
try  to  Suwanee,  which  was  the  headquarters  of 
the  notorious  Billy  Bowlegs;  but  in  the  skirmish 
that  ensued  that  chieftain  and  his  followers 
escaped,  though,  by  means  of  a  ruse  unworthy 
of  a  civilized  commander,  he  captured  two 
of  the  most  celebrated  of  the  Seminole  chief 
tains,  Francis  and  Himollimico.  Seeing  a  vessel 
enter  the  harbor,  the  two  chieftains,  who  had 
just  returned  from  a  visit  to  England,  rowed  out 

127 


The  Road  to  Glory 

and  asked  to  be  afforded  protection.  They  were 
courteously  received,  laid  aside  their  weapons, 
and  went  below  to  have  a  drink  with  the  com 
mander,  when  they  were  seized,  bound,  and,  upon 
protesting  at  this  breach  of  hospitality,  were  in 
formed  that  they  were  prisoners  on  an  American 
gunboat  which  Jackson  had  despatched  to  patrol 
the  coast  in  the  hope  of  intercepting  fugitives. 
The  next  day  the  two  prisoners,  by  orders  of 
Jackson,  were  summarily  hung.  By  such  ruth 
less  methods  as  these  did  the  grim  backwoods 
man,  who  well  deserved  the  title  of  "Old  Hickory," 
which  his  soldiers  bestowed  upon  him,  impress  on 
Indians  and  Spaniards  alike  the  fact  that  those 
who  opposed  him  need  expect  no  mercy.  He 
had  reached  Fort  Gadsden  on  his  return  march 
when  a  protest  against  this  unwarranted  invasion 
of  Spanish  territory  was  sent  him  by  the  governor 
of  Pensacola,  the  same  place,  you  will  remember, 
which  he  had  captured  three  years  before.  Jack 
son,  who  always  carried  a  chip  on  his  shoulder 
and  lived  in  hopes  that  some  one  would  dare  to 
knock  it  off,  turned  back  on  the  instant,  occu 
pied  Pensacola  for  the  second  time,  captured  the 
governor  and  his  troops,  deported  them  to  Ha 
vana  with  a  warning  never  to  return,  and  left  an 
American  garrison  in  occupation.  He  regretted 

128 


The  War  That  Wasn't  a  War 

afterward,  as  he  wrote  to  a  friend,  that  he  had 
not  carried  the  place  by  storm  and  hanged  the 
governor  out  of  hand. 

In  five  months  Jackson  had  broken  the  Indian 
power,  established  peace  along  the  border,  and  to 
all  intents  and  purposes  added  Florida  to  the 
Union.  Though  the  Spanish  minister  at  Wash 
ington  (for  after  the  fall  of  Napoleon  Spain  re 
sumed  the  foreign  relations  he  had  so  rudely 
interrupted)  vigorously  protested  against  this  inva 
sion  of  the  territory  of  his  sovereign,  he  neverthe 
less  hastened — whether  it  was  intended  or  not 
that  his  movements  should  be  thus  accelerated — 
to  negotiate  a  treaty  ceding  Florida  to  the  United 
States  in  consideration  of  our  paying  the  claims 
held  by  American  citizens  against  Spain  to  the 
amount  of  five  million  dollars.  Though  the  his 
torians  dismiss  the  subject  with  the  bald  asser 
tion  that  Florida  was  acquired  by  purchase — 
which,  no  doubt,  is  technically  correct — I  think 
you  will  agree  with  me  that  "conquest"  is  a  more 
appropriate  word  and  that  its  conqueror  was  the 
backwoods  soldier  Andrew  Jackson.  No  wonder 
that  the  land  he  gave  us  yields  so  many  oranges 
after  having  been  fertilized  with  so  much  blood. 
No  wonder  that  it  has  restored  so  many  sick  men 
after  having  swallowed  up  so  many  well  ones. 

129 


THE  FIGHT  AT  QUALLA  BATTOO 


THE  FIGHT  AT  QUALLA  BATTOO 

IT  was  so  hot  that  the  little  group  of  sailors 
under  the  forward  awnings  lay  stretched  upon 
the  deck,  panting  like  hunted  rabbits,  while  rivers 
of  perspiration  coursed  down  their  naked  chests 
and  backs.  The  unshaded  portions  of  the  deck 
were  as  hot  to  the  touch  as  the  top  of  a  stove; 
bubbles  of  pitch  had  formed  along  the  seams  be 
tween  the  planks,  and  turpentine  was  exuding,  like 
beads  of  sweat,  from  the  spars.  Though  occasional 
puffs  of  land-wind  stirred  the  folds  of  the  Ameri 
can  flag  which  drooped  listlessly  from  the  taffrail 
sufficiently  to  disclose  the  legend  Friendship,  of 
Salem  in  raised  and  gilded  letters  on  the  stern, 
they  brought  about  as  much  relief  to  the  exhausted 
men  as  a  blast  from  an  open  furnace  door.  Even 
the  naked  Malays  who  were  at  work  under  the 
direction  of  a  profane  and  sweating  first  mate, 
transferring  innumerable  sacks  of  pepper  from  a 
small  boat  to  the  vessel's  hold,  showed  the  effects 
of  the  suffocating  atmosphere  by  performing  their 
task  with  more  than  ordinary  listlessness  and 
indolence. 


The  Road  to  Glory 

Half  a  mile  away  the  nipa-thatched  huts  of 
Qualla  Battoo,  built  amid  a  thicket  of  palms  on 
the  sandy  shores  of  a  cove  where  a  mountain  tor 
rent  debouched  into  the  sea,  seemed  to  flicker  like 
a  scene  on  a  moving-picture  screen  in  the  shifting 
waves  of  heat.  Immediately  at  the  back  of  the 
town  rose  the  green  wall  of  the  Sumatran  jungle, 
which  bordered  the  yellow  beach  in  both  direc 
tions  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  Behind  this 
impenetrable  screen  of  vegetation,  over  which  the 
miasma  hung  in  wreathlike  clouds,  rose  the  purple 
peaks  of  the  Bukit  Barisan  Range,  of  which  Mount 
Berapi,  twelve  thousand  feet  high,  is  the  grim  and 
forbidding  overlord.  Upon  this  shore  a  mighty 
surf  pounds  unceasingly.  Forming  far  to  seaward, 
the  tremendous  rollers  come  booming  in  with  the 
speed  of  an  express  train,  gradually  gathering 
volume  as  they  near  the  shore  until  they  tower 
to  a  height  of  twenty  feet  or  more,  when,  striking 
the  beach,  they  break  upon  the  sands  with  a  roar 
which  on  still  nights  can  be  heard  up-country  for 
many  miles.  So  dangerous  is  the  surf  along  this 
coast  that  when  trading  vessels  drop  anchor  off 
its  towns  to  pick  up  cargoes  of  pepper,  copra,  or 
coffee,  they  invariably  send  their  boats  ashore  in 
charge  of  natives,  who  are  as  familiar  with  this 
threatening,  thunderous  barrier  of  foam  as  is  a 


The  Fight  at  Qualla  Battoo 

housewife  with  the  cupboards  in  her  kitchen. 
But  even  the  Malays,  marvellously  skilful  boat 
men  as  they  are,  can  effect  a  landing  only  at  those 
places  where  the  mountain  streams,  of  which  there 
are  a  great  number  along  the  western  coast  of 
Sumatra,  have  melted  comparatively  smooth  chan 
nels  through  the  angry  surf  to  the  open  sea.  The 
pepper,  which  is  one  of  the  island's  chief  articles 
of  export,  is  grown  on  the  high  table-lands  in  the 
interior  and  is  brought  down  to  the  trading  sta 
tions  on  the  coast  by  means  of  bamboo  rafts,  their 
navigation  through  the  cataracts  and  rapids  which 
obstruct  these  mountain  streams  being  a  perilous 
and  hair-raising  performance. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  while  the  New  Eng 
land  merchantman  rocked  lazily  in  the  Indian 
Ocean  swells  on  this  scorching  afternoon  in  Feb 
ruary,  1831,  her  master,  Mr.  Endicott,  her  second 
mate,  John  Barry,  and  four  of  her  crew,  were  at 
the  trading  station,  a  short  distance  up  the  river 
from  Qualla  Battoo,  superintending  the  weighing 
of  the  pepper  and  making  sure  that  it  was  prop 
erly  stowed  away  in  the  boats  where  the  water 
could  not  reach  it,  for,  as  Captain  Endicott  had 
learned  from  many  and  painful  experiences,  the 
Malays  are  not  to  be  trusted  in  such  things.  Now, 
Captain  Endicott  had  not  traded  along  the  coasts 


The  Road  to  Glory 

of  Malaysia  for  a  dozen  years  without  learning 
certain  lessons  by  heart,  and  one  of  them  was  that 
the  lithe  and  sinewy  brown  men  with  whom  he 
was  doing  business  were  no  less  cruel  and  treach 
erous  than  the  surf  that  edged  their  shores.  Hence 
his  suspicions  instantly  became  aroused  when  he 
noticed  that  the  first  boat,  after  being  loaded  at 
the  trading  station  and  starting  for  the  river  mouth 
instead  of  making  straight  for  the  Friendship,  as 
it  should  have  done,  stopped  on  its  way  through 
the  town  and  took  aboard  more  men.  Conclud 
ing,  however,  that  the  Malay  crew  required  addi 
tional  oarsmen  in  order  to  negotiate  the  unusually 
heavy  surf,  his  suspicions  were  allayed  and  he 
turned  again  to  the  business  of  weighing  out  pep 
per  for  the  second  boat-load,  though  he  took  the 
precaution,  nevertheless,  of  detailing  two  of  his 
men  to  keep  their  eyes  on  the  boat  and  to  in 
stantly  report  anything  which  seemed  out  of  the 
ordinary. 

Instead  of  taking  on  more  oarsmen,  as  Captain 
Endicott  had  supposed,  the  boat's  crew  had  ex 
changed  places  with  double  their  number  of  armed 
warriors,  who,  concealing  their  weapons,  sent  the 
boat  smashing  through  the  wall  of  surf  and  then 
pulled  leisurely  out  toward  the  unsuspecting  mer 
chantman.  Though  the  first  mate,  who  was  in 

136 


The  Fight  at  Qualla  Battoo 

charge  of  the  loading,  remarked  that  the  boat  had 
an  unusually  large  crew,  he  drew  the  same  con 
clusions  as  the  captain  and  permitted  it  to  come 
alongside.  No  sooner  was  it  made  fast  to  the 
Friendship's  side,  however,  than  the  Malays,  con 
cealing  their  krises  in  their  scanty  clothing,  began 
to  scramble  over  the  bulwarks,  until  a  score  or 
more  of  them  were  gathered  on  the  vessel's  decks. 
The  mate,  ever  fearful  of  treachery,  ordered  them 
back  into  their  boat,  but  the  Malays,  pretending 
not  to  understand  him,  scattered  over  the  ship, 
staring  at  the  rigging  and  equipment  with  the 
open-mouthed  curiosity  of  children.  So  well  did 
they  play  their  parts,  indeed,  that  the  mate  de 
cided  that  his  suspicions  were  unfounded  and 
turned  again  to  the  work  of  checking  up  the  bags 
of  pepper  as  they  came  over  the  side.  When  the 
Malays  had  satisfied  themselves  as  to  the  strength 
and  whereabouts  of  the  crew,  whom  they  out 
numbered  three  to  one,  they  unostentatiously  took 
the  positions  their  leader  assigned  to  them.  Then, 
choosing  a  moment  when  the  mate  was  leaning 
over  the  side  giving  orders  to  the  men  in  the  boat, 
one  of  their  number,  moving  across  the  deck  on 
naked  feet  with  the  stealth  and  silence  of  a  cat, 
drew  back  his  arm  and  with  a  vicious  downward 
sweep  buried  his  razor-edged  kris  between  the 


The  Road  to  Glory 

American's  brawny  shoulders.  Though  mortally 
wounded,  the  mate  uttered  a  scream  of  warn 
ing,  whereupon  five  of  the  sailors  who  had  been 
lounging  under  the  forward  awning,  snatching 
up  belaying-pins  and  capstan-bars,  ran  to  his 
assistance.  But  the  Malays  were  too  many  for 
them  and  too  well  armed,  and  after  a  brief  but 
desperate  struggle  two  other  Americans  lay  dead 
upon  the  blood-stained  deck,  while  the  other  three, 
less  fortunate,  were  prisoners  with  a  fate  too  hor 
rible  for  words  in  store  for  them.  The  four  re 
maining  seamen,  who  had  been  below,  aroused  by 
the  noise  of  the  struggle,  had  rushed  on  deck  in 
time  to  witness  the  fate  of  their  comrades.  Real 
izing  the  utter  helplessness  of  their  position  and 
appreciating  that  only  butchery  or  torture  awaited 
them  if  they  remained,  they  burst  through  the 
ring  of  natives  who  surrounded  them  and  dived 
into  the  sea.  They  quickly  discovered,  however, 
that  the  shore  held  no  greater  safety  than  the 
ship,  for  whenever  they  were  lifted  on  the  crest 
of  a  wave  they  could  see  that  the  beach  was  lined 
with  armed  warriors,  whooping  and  brandishing 
their  spears.  Seeing  that  to  land  was  but  to  in 
vite  death  in  one  of  its  most  unpleasant  forms, 
the  four  swimmers  held  a  brief  consultation  and 
then,  abruptly  changing  their  course,  struck  out 

138 


The  Fight  at  Qualla  Battoo 

for  a  rocky  promontory  several  miles  away,  which 
offered  them  at  least  temporary  safety,  as  the 
Malays  could  not  readily  reach  them. 

In  the  meantime,  the  two  seamen  who  had 
been  detailed  by  Captain  Endicott  to  keep  watch 
of  the  boat,  observing  the  confusion  on  the  Friend 
ship's  decks  and  seeing  the  sailors  jumping  over 
board,  summoned  their  commander,  who  quickly 
surmised  what  had  happened.  Endicott  realized 
that  there  was  not  an  instant  to  lose.  Ordering 
his  second  mate  and  the  four  seamen  into  the 
boat  which  was  then  being  loaded,  they  pulled 
madly  for  the  mouth  of  the  river.  Nor  were  they 
a  second  too  soon,  for,  as  they  swung  into  that 
reach  of  the  river  which  is  bordered  on  either 
bank  by  the  huts  of  the  town,  the  Qualla  Bat- 
tooans  ran  out  and  attempted  to  intercept  them. 
But  the  Americans,  spurred  on  by  the  knowledge 
that  death  awaited  them  if  they  were  captured, 
bent  to  their  oars,  and,  amid  a  rain  of  bullets, 
spears,  and  arrows,  the  boat  swept  through  the 
town  as  a  racing  shell  sweeps  down  the  Hudson 
at  Poughkeepsie.  Though  they  succeeded  by 
something  akin  to  a  miracle  in  reaching  the 
mouth  of  the  river  unharmed,  it  now  looked  as 
though  they  would  perish  in  the  mountain-high 
surf,  for  they  were  ignorant  of  the  channel  and 


The  Road  to  Glory 

had  none  of  the  Malay  skill  for  handling  a  boat 
in  heavy  breakers.  But  at  this  crucial  moment 
they  saw  a  man's  head  bobbing  in  the  water  along 
side,  a  familiar  voice  hailed  them  in  English,  and 
a  moment  later  a  friendly  Malay  named  Po  Adam, 
the  rajah  of  a  neighboring  tribe  which  was  on 
none  too  friendly  terms  with  the  Qualla  Battooans, 
drew  himself  into  the  boat. 

"What  on  earth  are  you  doing  here,  Adam?" 
exclaimed  Endicott,  when  he  recognized  his  caller 
from  the  sea.  "Are  you  coming  with  us  ?" 

"Yes,  cap'n,"  said  the  Malay;  "if  they  kill  you 
they  must  kill  me  first."  Po  Adam,  it  seemed, 
had  come  to  Qualla  Battoo  in  his  armed  coasting 
schooner,  had  witnessed  the  capture  of  the  Ameri 
can  vessel,  and,  fearing  that  the  attack  might  be 
extended  to  him  because  of  his  known  friendship 
for  foreigners,  he  had  swum  to  the  American  boat. 
With  him  for  a  pilot  they  managed,  with  extreme 
difficulty,  to  negotiate  the  breakers,  though  no 
sooner  was  this  danger  behind  them  than  another 
one  appeared  in  front,  for  the  Malays,  foiled  in 
their  attempt  to  intercept  the  Americans  as  they 
passed  down  the  river,  had  put  off  in  several  war 
canoes,  which  could  easily  overtake  them  on  the 
sea.  The  Americans  were  defenseless,  for  in  their 
haste  to  embark  they  had  left  their  weapons  be- 

140 


The  Fight  at  Qualla  Battoo 

hind  them.  Po  Adam,  however,  had  managed  to 
cling  to  his  scimitar  during  his  swim,  and  this  he 
brandished  so  ferociously  and  uttered  such  appall 
ing  threats  of  what  his  tribesmen  would  do  to 
the  Qualla  Battooans  if  he  were  molested  that 
they  sheered  off  without  attacking. 

Realizing  that  it  was  foolhardiness  to  attempt 
to  retake  the  Friendship  with  half  a  dozen  men, 
Captain  Endicott,  after  touching  at  the  promon 
tory  to  pick  up  the  four  sailors  who  had  jumped 
overboard,  regretfully  laid  his  course  for  Muckie, 
Po  Adam's  capital,  twenty  miles  down  the  coast. 
As  he  departed  there  rang  in  his  ears  the  exul 
tant  shouts  of  the  Malays  who  were  looting  his 
beloved  vessel.  Turning,  he  shook  his  fist  in  the 
direction  of  Qualla  Battoo.  "I'll  come  back 
again,  my  fine  fellows,"  he  muttered,  "and  when 
I  do  you'll  wish  to  Heaven  that  you'd  never 
touched  Americans." 

Reaching  Muckie  late  that  night,  the  refugees 
were  overjoyed  to  find  in  the  harbor  three  Amer 
ican  merchantmen.  No  sooner  had  Endicott  told 
his  story  to  their  commanders  than  they  resolved 
to  attempt  the  recapture  of  the  Friendship,  for 
they  recognized  the  fact  that,  once  the  natives 
found  that  they  could  attack  with  impunity  a 
vessel  flying  the  stars  and  stripes,  no  American 

141 


The  Road  to  Glory 

would  be  safe  upon  those  coasts.  This,  remember, 
was  in  the  days  when  we  had  no  Asiatic  squadron 
and  when  Americans  doing  business  in  that  re 
mote  quarter  of  the  globe  had,  in  large  measure, 
to  settle  such  scores  for  themselves.  There  have, 
indeed,  been  hundreds  of  occasions  on  these  far- 
distant  seaboards,  which  the  historians  have  either 
forgotten,  or  of  which  they  have  never  known, 
when  American  merchant  sailors  engaged  in  as 
desperate  actions  and  fought  with  as  reckless 
courage  against  overwhelming  odds  as  did  ever 
the  men  who  wore  the  navy  blue.  This  was  one  of 
those  occasions.  In  those  days,  when  the  fewness 
of  prowling  gunboats  offered  the  pirates  of  Ma 
laysia  many  opportunities  to  ply  their  trade,  all 
merchantmen  venturing  into  those  waters  went 
armed,  and  their  crews  were  as  carefully  trained 
in  cutlass  drill  and  the  handling  of  guns  as  they 
were  in  boat  drill  and  in  handling  the  sails. 
Therefore,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  their 
combined  crews  numbered  barely  half  a  hundred 
men,  the  three  American  ships  which  the  next 
morning  bore  down  on  Qualla  Battoo  were  not 
to  be  despised. 

To  the  message  sent  by  the  American  captains 
to  the  rajah  of  Qualla  Battoo  demanding  the 
immediate  surrender  of  the  Friendship,  he  re- 

142 


The  Fight  at  Qualla  Battoo 

turned  the  insolent  reply:  "Why  don't  you  come 
and  take  her — if  you  can?"  As  soon  as  this 
message  was  received,  the  American  vessels  ran 
in  to  the  shore  as  close  as  they  dared  and,  bring 
ing  every  gun  to  bear,  opened  fire  upon  the  town, 
the  forts  at  Qualla  Battoo,  which  mounted  sev 
eral  heavy  guns,  replying  without  effect.  Though 
the  bombardment  destroyed  a  number  of  native 
huts,  the  American  commanders  quickly  recog 
nized  that  it  was  doing  no  serious  harm  and  de 
cided  to  get  the  business  over  with  by  making  a 
boat  attack  on  the  Friendship  and  retaking  her  at 
the  point  of  the  cutlass.  Three  boats  were  accord 
ingly  lowered  and,  loaded  with  sailors  armed 
to  the  teeth  and  eager  to  avenge  their  country 
men,  steered  toward  the  Friendship,  whose  bul 
warks  were  black  with  Malays.  As  the  boats 
drew  within  range  the  Malays,  who  were  armed 
with  muskets  of  an  antiquated  pattern,  greeted 
them  with  a  heavy  fire;  several  of  the  crews 
dropped  forward,  wounded,  and  for  a  moment  the 
progress  of  the  boats  was  checked.  "Give  way, 
men  !  Give  way  all !"  bellowed  the  officers,  and, 
thus  steadied,  the  sailors  bent  again  to  their  oars. 
As  they  swung  alongside  the  Friendship  the  sailors 
at  the  bow  and  stern  of  each  boat  held  it  in  place 
with  boat-hooks,  while  the  crews,  pistols  in  their 

143 


The  Road  to  Glory 

belts  and  cutlasses  between  their  teeth,  swarmed 
up  the  side  in  obedience  to  the  order:  "Boarders 
up  and  away!"  They  may  have  been  amateurs 
at  the  business,  these  merchant  seamen,  but  they 
did  the  job  as  though  they  were  seasoned  man-of- 
war's  men  with  "U.  S."  stamped  in  gilt  upon  their 
hatbands.  There  have  been  few  more  gallant  or 
daring  actions  in  the  history  of  the  sea,  for  the 
boarders  numbered  less  than  twoscore  men  all 
told,  and  awaiting  them  on  the  decks  above  were 
three  hundred  desperate  and  well-armed  natives. 
Though  bullets  and  arrows  and  javelins  were 
rained  down  upon  them,  the  Americans  went 
up  the  side  with  the  agility  of  monkeys;  though 
the  Malays  slashed  at  them  with  scimitars  and 
krises  and  lunged  at  them  with  spears,  the 
seamen,  their  New  England  fighting  blood  now 
thoroughly  aroused,  would  not  be  denied.  Scram 
bling  over  the  bulwarks,  they  fairly  hewed  their 
way  into  the  mass  of  brown  men,  hacking,  stab 
bing,  shooting,  cursing,  cheering — a  line  of  grim- 
faced  fighters  sweeping  forward  as  remorselessly 
as  death.  Before  the  ferocity  of  their  attack  the 
Malays,  courageous  though  they  were,  became 
panic-stricken,  broke,  and  ran,  until,  within  five 
minutes  after  the  Americans  had  set  foot  upon  the 
Friendship's  decks,  such  of  the  enemy  as  were  not 

144 


The  Fight  at  Qualla  Battoo 

dead  or  wounded  had  leaped  overboard  and  were 
swimming  for  the  shore.  Upon  examining  the 
vessel,  .Captain  Endicott  found  that  she  had  been 
rifled  of  everything  that  was  portable,  including 
twelve  thousand  dollars  in  coin.  Even  the  copper 
bolts  had  been  taken  from  her  timbers  and  every 
thing  that  could  not  be  taken  away  had  been 
wantonly  destroyed.  So  great  was  the  havoc  that 
had  been  wrought  that  it  was  impossible  to 
continue  the  voyage;  so,  after  effecting  tem 
porary  repairs  at  Muckie,  Captain  Endicott  and 
the  survivors  of  his  crew  sailed  for  home  and, 
with  %he  exception  of  one  of  them,  out  of  this 
story. 

If  the  rajah  of  Qualla  Battoo  had  been  ac 
quainted  with  the  manner  of  man  who  at  this 
time  occupied  the  White  House,  he  would  prob 
ably  have  thought  twice  before  he  molested  an 
American  vessel.  With  far  less  provocation  than 
that  given  by  the  Malays,  Andrew  Jackson  had 
virtually  exterminated  the  powerful  nation  of  the 
Creeks;  defying  the  power  of  Spain,  he  had  in 
vaded  the  Floridas,  captured  Spanish  forts,  seized 
Spanish  towns,  and  executed  Spanish  subjects. 
In  fact,  he  was  the  very  last  man  who  could  be 
affronted  with  impunity  by  any  sovereign — much 
less  by  the  ruler  of  an  insignificant  state  in  Ma- 


The  Road  to  Glory 

laysia.  When  the  news  of  the  attack  on  the 
Friendship  and  the  murder  of  her  American  sailors 
reached  Washington,  the  44-gun  frigate  Potomac, 
Captain  John  Downes,  lay  in  New  York  harbor 
waiting  to  convey  Martin  Van  Buren,  the  newly 
appointed  minister  to  the  court  of  St.  James, 
to  England.  But  Jackson,  who  always  wanted 
quick  action,  ordered  Captain  Downes  to  sail 
immediately  for  Sumatran  waters  and  teach  the 
Malays  that,  merely  because  they  happened  to 
dwell  at  the  antipodes,  they  could  not  escape 
American  retribution. 

On  the  6th  of  February,  1832 — a  year  to  a  day 
after  the  treacherous  attack  on  the  Friendship — 
the  Potomac  appeared  ofFQualla  Battoo.  As  Cap 
tain  Downes  had  planned  to  give  the  Qualla  Bat- 
tooans  as  much  of  a  surprise  as  they  had  given 
Captain  Endicott,  he  ordered  the  guns  run  in, 
the  ports  closed,  the  topmasts  housed,  and  the 
Danish  colors  displayed,  so  that  to  the  untrained 
native  eye  the  big  frigate  would  have  the  appear 
ance  of  an  unsuspecting  merchantman.  Even  the 
officers  and  men  who  were  sent  in  a  whale-boat  to 
take  soundings  and  to  choose  a  place  for  a  land 
ing  were  dressed  in  the  nondescript  garments  of 
merchant  sailors,  so  that  the  hundreds  of  Malays 
who  lined  the  shore  did  not  hesitate  to  threaten 

146 


The  Fight  at  Qualla  Battoo 

them  with  their  weapons.  John  Barry,  the  second 
mate  of  the  Friendship,  had  come  with  the  expe 
dition  as  a  guide  and  from  the  whale-boat  he  had 
indicated  to  the  officers  the  mouth  of  the  river, 
where  a  landing  could  be  effected  with  compara 
tive  ease.  Everything  being  in  readiness,  Captain 
Downes  issued  orders  that  the  landing  would  take 
place  at  midnight.  The  fact  was  impressed  upon 
every  one  that  if  the  Qualla  Battooans  were  to  be 
taken  by  surprise,  the  strictest  silence  must  be 
observed.  At  the  hour  appointed,  the  men  as 
sembled  at  the  head  of  the  gangway  on  the  side 
away  from  the  town  and,  at  the  whispered  order, 
noiselessly  took  their  places  in  the  waiting  boats. 
Through  a  fragrance-laden  darkness,  under  a  pur 
ple-velvet  sky,  the  line  of  boats  pulled  silently  for 
the  shore,  the  occasional  creak  of  an  oar-lock  or  the 
clank  of  a  cutlass  being  drowned  by  the  thunder 
of  the  surf.  As  the  keels  grated  on  the  beach,  the 
men  jumped  out  and  formed  into  divisions  in  the 
darkness,  the  boats,  with  enough  men  to  handle 
them,  being  directed  to  remain  outside  the  line  of 
breakers  until  they  were  needed.  No  time  was 
lost  in  forming  the  column,  which  was  composed 
of  a  company  of  marines,  a  division  of  seamen,  a 
division  of  musketeers  and  pikemen,  and  another 
division  of  seamen,  the  rear  being  brought  up  by 

i47 


The  Road  to  Glory 

a   gun   crew   dragging   a   six-pounder  which   the 
sailors  had  dubbed  the  "Betsy  Baker." 

The  Qualla  Battooans,  who  were  far  from  being 
on  good  terms  with  the  neighboring  tribes,  had 
encircled  their  town  with  a  chain  of  forts  consist 
ing  of  high  stockades  of  sharpened  teakwood  logs 
loopholed  for  musketry.  In  the  centre  of  each  of 
these  stockaded  enclosures  stood  a  platform  raised 
on  stilts  to  a  height  of  fifteen  or  twenty  feet, 
from  which  swivel-guns  could  sweep  an  attacking 
force  and  to  which  the  defenders  could  retreat  for 
a  last  desperate  stand  in  case  an  enemy  should 
succeed  in  taking  the  stockade.  Barry,  who  was 
well  acquainted  with  the  defenses  of  the  town, 
had  drawn  a  map  indicating  the  position  of  the 
various  forts,  so,  as  soon  as  the  debarkation  was 
completed,  the  divisions  marched  off  to  take  up 
their  positions  in  front  of  the  forts  which  they 
had  been  designated  to  capture.  To  Lieutenant 
Huff,  commanding  the  division  of  musketeers  and 
pikemen,  had  been  assigned  the  taking  of  the 
fort  on  the  northern  edge  of  the  town,  which  was 
garrisoned  by  a  strong  force  of  Malays  under 
Rajah  Maley  Mohammed,  one  of  the  most  power 
ful  chieftains  on  the  west  coast  of  Sumatra.  As 
the  Americans  stealthily  approached  in  the  hope 
of  taking  the  garrison  by  surprise,  their  presence 

148 


The  Fight  at  Qualla  Battoo 

was  discovered  by  a  sentry  and  an  instant  later 
flame  spurted  from  every  loophole  in  the  stock 
ade  as  the  defenders  opened  fire.  The  Yankee 
sailors  paused  only  long  enough  to  pour  in  a 
single  volley  and  then,  their  bugles  screaming  the 
charge,  raced  for  the  stockade  gate.  It  was  built 
of  solid  teak  and  defied  the  efforts  of  the  sailors 
to  batter  it  down  with  their  axes;  whereupon  a 
marine  dashed  forward  with  a  bag  of  powder,  a 
fuse  was  hastily  attached  and  lighted,  and  when 
the  smoke  of  the  ensuing  explosion  cleared  away 
the  gates  had  disappeared.  Through  the  breach 
thus  made,  the  Americans  poured  and  an  instant 
later  were  at  hand-grips  with  the  enemy.  For 
twenty  minutes  the  struggle  within  the  stockade 
was  a  bloody  one,  for  the  Malays  fought  with 
the  courage  of  desperation,  asking  no  quarter  and 
giving  none.  But  their  numbers  were  unavailing 
against  the  discipline  and  determination  of  the 
Americans,  who,  by  a  series  of  rushes,  drove  the 
enemy  before  them  until  they  finally  retreated  to 
the  shelter  of  their  high  platform,  drawing  the 
ladders  up  after  them.  Now  the  struggle  entered 
upon  its  most  desperate  phase,  for  the  defenders, 
anticipating  no  mercy,  prepared  to  sell  their  lives 
at  the  highest  possible  price.  From  the  bamboo 
poles  of  which  the  huts  were  built  the  dexterous 

149 


The  Road  to  Glory 

sailors  quickly  improvised  ladders  and,  rushing 
forward  under  cover  of  a  heavy  rifle  fire,  planted 
them  against  the  platform  on  all  four  sides.  Then, 
while  the  riflemen  picked  ofF  every  defender  who 
ventured  to  expose  himself,  the  sailors  swarmed 
up  the  ladders,  firing  their  pistols  pointblank 
into  the  savage  faces  which  glared  down  upon 
them  from  the  platform's  edge.  It  was  a  peril 
ous  feat,  this  assault  by  ladders  on  a  platform 
held  by  a  desperate  and  dangerous  foe,  but  its  very 
daring  made  it  successful,  and  almost  before  the 
Malays  realized  what  had  happened  the  Ameri 
cans  had  gained  the  platform  and  were  at  their 
throats.  It  was  all  over  save  the  shouting.  Those 
of  the  warriors  who  were  not  despatched  by  the 
sailors  leaped  from  the  platform  only  to  be  shot 
by  the  Americans  below.  It  was  a  bloody  busi 
ness.  The  rajah  fought  with  the  ferocity  of  a 
Sumatran  tiger,  even  after  he  was  dying  from  a 
dozen  wounds,  slashing  with  his  scimitar  at  every 
American  who  came  within  reach,  until  a  bayo 
net  thrust  from  a  marine  sent  him  to  the  Moslem 
paradise.  As  he  fell,  a  young  and  beautiful  woman, 
who,  from  her  dress,  was  evidently  one  of  his  wives, 
sprang  forward  and,  snatching  up  the  scimitar 
which  had  dropped  from  his  nerveless  fingers,  at 
tacked  the  Americans  like  a  wildcat,  laying  open 

150 


The  Fight  at  Qualla  Battoo 

one  man's  head  and  slicing  off  the  thumb  of 
another.  The  sailors,  loath  to  fight  a  woman — 
particularly  one  so  young  and  lovely — fell  back  in 
momentary  confusion,  but  as  they  attempted  to 
surround  her,  she  weakened  from  loss  of  blood 
caused  by  a  stray  bullet,  the  scimitar  fell  from  her 
hand,  and  she  fell  forward  dead  across  the  body 
of  her  husband. 

While  this  struggle  was  in  progress,  Lieutenants 
Edson  and  Tenett,  in  command  of  the  marines, 
had  surprised  the  fort  in  the  middle  of  the  town, 
battered  in  the  gates,  and,  after  a  brisk  engage 
ment,  had  routed  the  garrison.  The  first  division 
of  seamen,  under  Lieutenant  Pinkham,  had  been 
ordered  to  take  the  fort  in  the  rear  of  the  town, 
but  it  was  so  cleverly  concealed  in  the  jungle  that 
Mr.  Barry  was  unable  to  locate  it  in  the  darkness, 
whereupon  Pinkham  joined  Lieutenant  Shubrick's 
command  in  an  assault  upon  the  most  formidable 
fort  of  all,  which  occupied  an  exceptionally  strong 
position  on  the  bank  of  the  river.  Here  the  reigning 
rajah  of  Qualla  Battoo  had  collected  several  hun 
dred  of  his  best  fighting  men,  who  announced  that 
they  would  die  rather  than  surrender.  And  they 
kept  their  word.  By  this  time  daybreak  was  at 
hand,  and  as  soon  as  the  Americans  came  within 
range  the  Malays  opened  on  them  with  their  swivel- 


The  Road  to  Glory 

guns,  which  were  mounted  on  the  high  platform 
in  the  centre  of  the  stockade.  Taking  such  shel 
ter  as  they  could  find,  the  Americans  opened  a 
brisk  rifle  fire,  but  the  walls  were  of  teak,  which 
turned  a  bullet  as  effectually  as  armor-plate,  and 
it  soon  became  evident  that  if  the  place  was  to 
be  taken,  some  other  means  of  attack  must  be 
adopted.  Leaving  sufficient  men  in  front  of  the 
fort  to  keep  the  Malays  fully  engaged,  Lieuten 
ant  Shubrick  with  the  fusileers  and  the  "Betsy 
Baker"  made  a  detour,  and,  unobserved  by  the 
defenders,  succeeded  in  reaching  the  river  bank 
at  the  rear  of  the  fort.  But  here  the  Americans 
met  with  a  surprise,  for,  lying  in  the  river,  a  few 
rods  off  the  fort,  were  three  large  and  heavily 
armed  proas  filled  with  warriors  awaiting  a  favor 
able  opportunity  to  take  a  hand  in  the  battle. 
But  this  was  just  such  an  opportunity  as  the  gun 
crew  had  been  hoping  and  praying  for.  Swinging 
their  little  field-piece  into  position,  they  trained  it 
on  the  crowded  deck  of  the  nearest  of  the  pirate 
craft,  and  the  first  intimation  the  Malays  had 
that  the  Americans  were  in  their  vicinity  was 
when  they  were  swept  by  a  storm  of  grape  which 
turned  their  decks  into  a  shambles.  So  deadly 
was  the  fire  of  the  American  gunners  that,  though 
the  Malays  succeeded  in  getting  up  sail  on  one 


The  Fight  at  Qualla  Battoo 

of  the  proas  and  running  her  out  of  the  river,  the 
crews  of  the  other  two  boats  were  compelled  to 
jump  overboard  and  swim  to  the  opposite  bank. 
Before  they  could  escape  into  the  bush,  however, 
they  were  intercepted  by  a  force  of  warriors  under 
our  old  friend,  Po  Adam,  who,  having  seen  the 
approach  of  the  Potomac  and  shrewdly  suspecting 
that  she  was  a  war-ship,  had  hastily  collected  his 
righting  men  and,  slipping  up  the  coast,  had  hov 
ered  in  the  jungle  at  the  outskirts  of  the  town, 
awaiting  an  opportunity  to  assist  the  Americans 
and,  incidentally,  to  even  up  a  few  scores  of  his 
own. 

The  proas  thus  disposed  of,  Lieutenant  Shubrick 
ordered  his  bugler  to  sound  the  "charge,"  which 
was  the  signal  agreed  upon  with  the  other  portion 
of  his  force,  whereupon  they  were  to  storm  the 
citadel  from  the  front  while  he  attacked  it  from 
the  rear.  As  the  bugle  sang  its  piercing  signal, 
the  gunners  sent  a  solid  shot  from  the  "Betsy 
Baker"  crashing  into  the  gates  of  the  fort,  and 
at  the  same  instant  the  whole  line  raced  forward 
at  the  double.  Though  the  gates  were  splintered, 
they  were  not  down,  but  half  a  dozen  brawny 
bluejackets  sprang  at  them  with  their  axes,  and 
before  their  thunderous  blows  they  went  crashing 
in.  But  as  the  head  of  the  storming  column  burst 

153 


The  Road  to  Glory 

through  the  passageway  thus  opened  they  were 
met  with  a  blast  of  lead  which  halted  them  as 
abruptly  as  though  they  had  run  against  a  gran 
ite  wall.  A  sailor  spun  about  on  his  heels  and 
collapsed,  an  inert  heap,  with  a  bullet  through  his 
brain;  another  clapped  his  hand  to  his  breast 
and  gazed  stupidly  at  the  ever-widening  splotch 
of  crimson  on  his  tunic;  all  down  the  column  could 
be  heard  the  never-to-be-forgotten  sound  of  bul 
lets  against  flesh  and  the  groans  or  imprecations 
of  wounded  men.  "Come  on,  men  !  Come  on  !" 
screamed  the  officers.  "Get  at  the  beggars  !  Give 
'em  the  bayonet !  Get  it  over  with !  All  to 
gether,  now — here  we  go  !"  and,  themselves  setting 
the  example,  they  plunged  through  the  opening, 
cutlass  in  hand.  For  a  few  moments  the  battle 
was  as  desperate  as  any  ever  waged  by  American 
arms.  The  cutlasses  of  the  sailors  fell  like  flails, 
and  when  they  rose  again  their  burnished  blades 
were  crimson.  The  marines  swung  their  bayo 
nets  like  field-hands  loading  hay,  and  at  every 
thrust  a  Malay  shrieked  and  crumpled.  Mean 
while  the  little  squad  of  artillerymen  had  dragged 
their  gun  to  an  eminence  which  commanded  the 
interior  of  the  stockade  and  from  this  place  of 
vantage  were  sweeping  bloody  lanes  through  the 
crowded  mass  of  brown  men.  But  the  Malays 


The  Fight  at  Qualla  Battoo 

were  no  cowards.  They  knew  how  to  fight  and 
how  to  die.  As  fast  as  one  man  went  down  an 
other  sprang  to  take  his  place.  The  noise  was 
deafening:  the  bang — bang — bang  of  muskets,  the 
crack  of  pistols,  the  rasp  of  steel  on  steel,  the 
deep-throated  hurrahs  of  the  sailors,  the  savage 
yells  of  the  Malays,  the  groans  and  curses  of 
the  wounded,  the  gasps  of  the  dying,  the  labored 
breathing  of  struggling  men,  the  whole  terrifying 
pandemonium  punctuated  at  thirty-second  inter 
vals  by  the  hoarse  bark  of  the  brass  field-gun. 
Magnificently  as  the  Malays  fought,  they  could 
not  stand  against  the  cohesion  and  impetus  of  the 
American  assault,  which  pushed  them  back  and 
carried  them  off  their  feet  as  a  Varsity  football 
team  does  a  team  of  scrubs.  After  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  of  fighting  the  survivors  of  the  garrison 
retreated  to  their  platform  in  the  air,  leaving  the 
space  within  the  stockade  carpeted  with  their 
dead  and  wounded.  Even  then  the  Malays  never 
dreamed  of  surrendering,  but  constantly  called 
down  to  the  Americans  in  broken  English  to 
"Come  and  take  us."  To  add  to  the  confusion,  if 
such  a  thing  were  possible,  the  portion  of  the 
stockade  captured  by  Lieutenants  Huff  and  Edson 
had,  in  pursuance  of  orders,  been  set  on  fire.  So 
rapidly  did  the  flames  spread  among  the  sun-dried, 


The  Road  to  Glory 

straw-thatched  huts,  however,  that  for  a  few  min 
utes  it  looked  as  though  Lieutenant  Shubrick's 
party  would  be  cut  off.  The  men  handling  the 
"Betsy  Baker"  having  run  out  of  ammunition,  a 
messenger  was  hastily  despatched  to  the  boats  for 
more  and  returned  on  a  run  with  several  bags  of 
bullets.  One  of  these  was  stuffed  into  the  muzzle 
and  the  little  gun  was  trained  on  the  Malays  who 
occupied  every  foot  of  the  aerial  retreat.  When 
the  smoke  cleared  away  it  was  seen  that  the  bag 
of  bullets,  fired  at  such  close  range,  had  created 
awful  havoc  among  the  defenders,  for  dead  and 
dying  men  were  scattered  everywhere.  Instantly 
Shubrick  appreciated  that  now  was  his  time  to 
act,  before  the  Malays  had  an  opportunity  to  re 
cover  from  their  confusion.  "Now's  our  chance, 
boys!"  he  shouted.  "Let's  get  up  on  top  there 
and  clean  out  the  nest  of  niggers."  At  the  words, 
his  bluejackets  rushed  forward  with  a  cheer. 
Nothing  could  stop  them.  Some  ascended  hastily 
constructed  ladders;  others  swarmed  up  the  poles 
which  supported  the  platform  as  they  were  ac 
customed  to  swarm  up  the  masts  at  sea,  wriggling 
over  the  edge  of  the  platform,  emptying  their  pis 
tols  into  the  snarling  countenances  above  them, 
and,  once  on  their  feet,  going  at  the  Malays  with 
cold  steel.  The  battle  in  the  air  was  short  and 

156 


The  Fight  at  Qualla  Battoo 

savage.  In  five  minutes  not  an  unwounded  Ma 
lay  remained  within  the  citadel,  and,  amid  a  hur 
ricane  of  cheers,  the  star-spangled  banner  was 
broken  out  from  the  staff  where  so  lately  had 
flaunted  the  standard  of  the  rajah — the  first  time 
that  our  flag  was  ever  raised  over  a  fortification 
on  Asiatic  soil. 

By  this  time,  the  Qualla  Battooans  were  so 
thoroughly  demoralized  that  the  capture  of  the 
two  remaining  forts  was  effected  with  compara 
tively  little  difficulty.  The  companies  composing 
the  expedition  now  fell  in  upon  the  beach,  and  the 
roll  was  called  to  ascertain  the  casualties  and  to 
learn  if  any  men  had  been  left  in  the  jungle.  It 
was  found  that  the  Americans  had  had  only  two 
killed  and  eleven  wounded — an  amazingly  small 
loss  in  view  of  the  desperate  character  of  the  fight 
ing.  The  Malays,  on  the  other  hand,  though 
fighting  from  behind  fortifications,  lost  upward 
of  four  hundred  men. 

The  next  day,  learning  that  the  Malays  were 
still  defiant  and  that  a  large  force  of  warriors  was 
gathering  at  the  back  of  the  town,  Captain  Downes 
weighed  anchor  and,  standing  as  close  inshore  as 
the  water  permitted,  opened  fire  with  his  heavy 
guns,  completing  the  destruction  of  the  forts,  set 
ting  fire  to  the  town,  and  killing  a  considerable 


The  Road  to  Glory 

number  of  warriors.  For  more  than  an  hour  the 
bombardment  continued,  the  American  gunners 
choosing  their  marks,  laying  their  guns,  and  plac 
ing  their  shots  with  the  same  coolness  and  accu 
racy  which,  years  later,  was  to  distinguish  their 
successors  at  Santiago  and  Vera  Cruz.  The 
Qualla  Battooans  were  even  more  terrified  by 
the  thunder  of  the  Potomac's  broadsides  than  by 
the  havoc  that  they  wrought,  for  they  had  never 
heard  big  guns  or  seen  a  war-ship  in  action  before. 
Soon  white  flags  began  to  appear  at  various  spots 
along  the  beach,  and  when,  in  acknowledgment 
of  the  signal,  the  bombardment  ceased,  a  proa 
set  out  through  the  surf  toward  the  frigate.  As 
it  came  alongside  it  was  found  to  contain  emis 
saries  from  the  surviving  rajahs  who  had  come 
to  beg  for  peace.  The  awed  and  humbled  chief 
tains  passed  between  double  ranks  of  bluejackets 
and  marines  to  the  quarter-deck,  where  they  were 
received  by  Captain  Downes,  who  was  in  full  uni 
form  and  surrounded  by  a  glittering  staff.  Noth 
ing  was  left  undone  to  impress  the  Malays  with 
the  might  and  majesty  of  the  nation  they  had 
offended  or  their  own  insignificance,  they  being 
compelled  to  approach  the  American  commander 
on  their  knees,  bowing  their  heads  to  the  deck  at 
every  yard.  But  they  had  had  their  lesson; 

158 


The  Fight  at  Qualla  Battoo 

their  insolence  and  haughtiness  had  disappeared; 
all  they  wanted  was  peace — peace  at  any  price. 

The  next  morning  the  crew  of  the  Potomac  were 
gladdened  by  the  cheery  notes  of  the  bo'sn's  whis 
tle  piping:  "All  hands  up  anchor  for  home."  Her 
mission  had  been  accomplished.  As  the  splendid 
black-hulled  vessel  stood  out  to  sea  under  a  cloud 
of  snowy  canvas,  the  grim  muzzles  of  her  four 
and  forty  guns  peering  menacingly  from  her  open 
ports,  the  chastened  and  humbled  survivors  of 
Qualla  Battoo  stood  on  the  beach  before  their 
ruined  town  and  watched  her  go.  At  the  mouths 
of  her  belching  guns  they  had  learned  the  lesson 
that  the  arm  of  the  great  republic  is  very  long, 
and  that  if  need  be  it  will  reach  half  the  world 
around  to  punish  and  avenge. 


UNDER  THE  FLAG  OF  THE  LONE  STAR 


UNDER  THE  FLAG  OF  THE  LONE  STAR 

HAD  you  stood  on  the  banks  of  the  Brazos 
in  December  of  the  year  in  which  the 
nineteenth  century  became  old  enough  to  vote 
and  looked  northeastward  across  the  plains  of 
central  Texas,  your  attention  would  doubtless 
have  been  attracted  by  a  rolling  cloud  of  dust. 
From  out  its  yellow  haze  would  have  crept  in 
time  a  straggling  line  of  canvas-covered  wagons. 
Iron-hard,  bearded  men,  their  faces  tanned  to  the 
color  of  a  much-used  saddle,  strode  beside  the 
wheels,  their  long-lashed  blacksnakes  cracking 
spasmodically,  like  pistol-shots,  between  the  horns 
of  the  plodding  oxen.  Weary-faced  women  in 
sunbonnets  and  calico,  with  broods  of  barelegged, 
frowzy-headed  youngsters  huddled  about  them, 
peered  curiously  from  beneath  the  arching 
wagon-tops.  A  thin  fringe  of  scouts  astride  of 
wiry  ponies,  long-barrelled  rifles  resting  on  the 
pommels  of  their  saddles,  rode  on  either  flank  of 
the  slowly  moving  column.  Other  groups  of 
alert  and  keen-eyed  horsemen  led  the  way  and 
brought  up  the  rear.  Though  these  dusty  mi 
grants  numbered  less  than  half  a  thousand  in  all, 

163 


The  Road  to  Glory 

though  their  garments  were  uniform  only  in  their 
stern  practicality  and  their  shabby  picturesque- 
ness,  though  their  only  weapons  were  hunting 
rifles  and  the  only  music  to  which  they  marched 
was  the  rattle  of  harness  and  the  creak  of  axle- 
trees,  they  formed,  nevertheless,  an  army  of  in 
vasion,  bent  on  the  conquest  not  of  a  people, 
however,  but  of  a  wilderness. 

Who  that  saw  that  dusty  column  trailing  across 
the  Texan  plains  would  have  dreamed  that  these 
gaunt  and  shabby  men  and  women  were  destined 
to  conquer  and  civilize  and  add  to  our  national 
domain  a  territory  larger  than  the  German  Em 
pire,  with  Switzerland,  Holland,  and  Belgium 
thrown  in  ?  Yet  that  trek  of  the  pioneers,  "south 
westerly  by  the  lone  star,"  was  the  curtain-raiser 
for  that  most  thrilling  of  historic  dramas,  or 
rather,  melodramas:  the  taking  of  Texas. 

To  understand  the  significance  of  that  chain  of 
startling  and  picturesque  events  which  began  with 
the  stand  of  the  settlers  on  the  Guadalupe  and 
culminated  in  the  victory  on  the  San  Jacinto 
without  at  least  a  rudimentary  knowledge  of  the 
conditions  which  led  up  to  it  is  as  impossible  as 
it  would  be  to  master  trigonometry  without  a 
knowledge  of  arithmetic.  But  do  not  worry  for 
fear  that  you  will  be  bored  by  the  recital;  the 

164 


Under  the  Flag  of  the  Lone  Star 

story  is  punctuated  much  too  frequently  with 
rifle-shots  and  pistol-shots  for  you  to  yawn  or 
become  sleepy-eyed. 

The  American  colonization  of  Texas — then 
known  as  the  province  of  New  Estremadura — 
began  while  Spain  still  numbered  Mexico  among 
her  colonial  possessions.  When  Iturbide  ended 
Spanish  rule  in  Mexico,  in  1821,  and  thereby  made 
himself  Emperor  of  the  third  largest  nation  in 
the  world  (China  and  Russia  alone  being  of 
greater  area),  he  promptly  confirmed  the  land 
grants  which  had  been  made  by  the  Spanish  au 
thorities  to  the  American  settlers  in  Texas,  both 
he  and  his  immediate  successors  being  only  too 
glad  to  further  the  development  of  the  wild  and 
almost  unknown  region  above  the  Rio  Grande  by 
these  hardy,  thrifty,  industrious  folk  from  the 
north.  Under  this  official  encouragement  an 
ever-growing,  ever-widening  stream  of  American 
emigration  went  rolling  Texasward.  The  forests 
echoed  to  the  axe  strokes  of  woodsmen  from  Ken 
tucky;  the  desert  was  furrowed  by  the  plough 
shares  of  Ohio  farmers;  villages  sprang  up  along 
the  rivers;  the  rolling  prairies  were  dotted  with 
patches  of  ripening  grain.  Texas  quickly  became 
the  magnet  which  drew  thousands  of  the  needy, 
the  desperate,  and  the  adventurous.  Men  of 

165 


The  Road  to  Glory 

broken  fortunes,  men  of  roving  habits,  adven 
turers,  land  speculators,  disappointed  politicians, 
unsuccessful  lawyers,  men  who  had  left  their 
country  for  their  country's  good,  as  well  as  mul 
titudes  of  sturdy,  thrifty,  hard-working  folk  de 
sirous  of  finding  homes  for  their  increasing  fami 
lies  poured  into  the  land  of  promise  afoot  and 
on  horseback,  by  boat  and  wagon-train,  until,  by 
1823,  there  were  probably  not  far  from  twenty 
thousand  of  these  American  outlanders  estab 
lished  between  the  Sabine  and  the  Pecos. 

Meanwhile  the  government  of  Mexico  was  be 
ginning  the  quick-change  act  with  which  it  has 
alternately  amused  and  exasperated  and  angered 
the  world  to  this  day.  The  short-lived  empire  of 
Iturbide  lasted  but  a  year,  the  Emperor  meeting 
his  end  with  his  back  to  a  stone  wall  and  his  face 
to  a  firing-party.  Victoria  proclaimed  Mexico  a 
republic  and  himself  its  President.  Pedraza  suc 
ceeded  him  in  1828.  Then  Guerrero  overthrew 
Pedraza,  and  Bustamente  overthrew  Guerrero, 
and  Santa  Anna  overthrew  Bustamente  and  made 
himself  dictator,  ruling  the  war-racked  country 
with  an  iron  hand.  Now,  a  dictator,  if  he  is  to 
hold  his  job,  much  less  enjoy  any  peace  of  mind, 
must  rule  a  people  who,  either  through  fear  or 
ignorance,  are  willing  to  forget  about  their  con- 

166 


Under  the  Flag  of  the  Lone  Star 

stitutional  rights  and  obligingly  refrain  from  ask 
ing  questions.  But  the  American  settlers  in  Texas, 
as  each  of  the  Mexican  usurpers  discovered  in  his 
turn  and  to  his  very  great  annoyance,  were  not 
built  according  to  these  specifications.  They  were 
not  ignorant,  and  they  were  not  in  the  least  afraid, 
and  when  the  privileges  they  had  enjoyed  were 
revoked  or  curtailed  they  resented  it  emphatically. 

Alarmed  by  the  rapid  increase  in  the  number  of 
American  settlers,  disturbed  by  their  independence 
and  self-reliance,  and  realizing  that  they  were 
daily  becoming  a  greater  menace  to  the  dictatorial 
and  dishonest  methods  of  government  which  pre 
vailed,  the  Mexican  dictators  determined  to  crush 
them  before  it  was  too  late.  In  pursuance  of  this 
policy  they  inaugurated  a  systematic  campaign 
of  persecution.  Sixty-odd  years  later  the  Boers 
adopted  the  same  attitude  toward  the  British  set 
tlers  in  the  Transvaal  that  the  Mexicans  did  to 
ward  the  American  settlers  in  Texas,  and  the  same 
thing  happened  in  both  cases. 

For  three  years  after  Mexico  achieved  its  in 
dependence  Texas  was  a  separate  State  of  the 
republic,  with  a  government  of  its  own.  But  in 
1824,  in  pursuance  of  this  anti-American  policy, 
it  was  deprived  of  the  privilege  of  self-government 
and  added  to  the  State  of  Coahuila.  Shortly  after 

167 


The  Road  to  Glory 

this  a  law  was  passed  forbidding  the  further  settle 
ment  of  Americans  in  Texas  and  prohibiting  Amer 
icans  from  even  trading  in  that  region.  And,  to 
still  further  harass  and  humiliate  the  Texans,  a 
number  of  penal  settlements,  composed  of  the  most 
desperate  criminals  in  the  Mexican  prisons,  were 
established  in  Texas.  Heretofore  the  Texans, 
in  recognition  of  their  services  in  transforming 
Texas  from  a  savage  wilderness  into  a  civilized 
and  prosperous  province,  had  enjoyed  immu 
nity  from  taxes,  but  now  custom-houses  were 
established  and  the  settlers  were  charged  pro 
hibitive  duties  even  on  the  necessities  of  life. 
When  they  protested  against  so  flagrant  an  in 
justice  the  Mexican  Government  answered  them 
by  blockading  their  ports.  Heavy  garrisons  were 
now  quartered  in  the  principal  towns,  the  civil 
authorities  were  defied,  and  the  settlers  were  sub 
jected  to  the  tyranny  of  unrestrained  military 
rule.  Still  the  Texans  did  not  offer  armed  resis 
tance.  Their  tight-drawn  patience  snapped,  how 
ever,  when,  in  1834,  Santa  Anna,  determined  to 
crush  for  good  and  all  the  sturdy  independence 
which  animated  them,  ordered  his  brother-in-law, 
General  Cos,  to  enter  Texas  with  a  force  of  fif 
teen  hundred  men  and  disarm  the  Americans, 
leaving  only  one  rifle  to  every  five  hundred  in- 

168 


Under  the  Flag  of  the  Lone  Star 

habitants.  That  order  was  all  that  was  needed 
to  fan  the  smouldering  embers  of  Texan  resent 
ment  into  the  fierce  flame  of  armed  revolt.  Were 
they  to  be  deprived  of  those  trusty  rifles  which 
they  had  brought  with  them  on  their  long  pil 
grimage  from  the  north,  which  were  their  only 
resource  for  game,  their  only  defense  against  In 
dians,  their  only  means  of  resistance  to  oppres 
sion  ?  Those  were  the  questions  that  the  settlers 
asked  themselves,  and  they  answered  them  at 
Gonzales,  on  the  banks  of  the  Guadalupe. 

At  Gonzales  was  a  small  brass  field-piece  which 
had  been  given  to  the  settlers  as  a  protection  from 
the  Indians.  A  detachment  of  Mexican  cavalry, 
some  eightscore  strong,  was  ordered  to  go  to  the 
town,  capture  the  cannon,  and  disarm  the  inhabi 
tants.  News  of  their  coming  preceded  them, 
however,  and  when  the  troopers  reached  the  banks 
of  the  river  opposite  the  town  they  found  that  all 
the  boats  had  been  taken  to  the  other  side,  while 
the  cannon  which  they  had  come  to  capture  was 
drawn  up  in  full  view  with  a  placard  hanging 
from  it.  The  placard  bore  the  ominous  invita 
tion:  "Come  and  take  it."  The  Mexican  com 
mander,  spurring  his  horse  to  the  edge  of  the 
river,  insolently  called  upon  the  inhabitants  to  give 
up  their  arms.  It  was  the  same  demand,  made 

169 


The  Road  to  Glory 

for  the  same  purpose,  which  an  officer  in  a  scar 
let  coat  had  made  of  another  group  of  Americans, 
threescore  years  before,  on  the  village  green  at 
Lexington.  It  was  the  same  demand !  And  the 
same  answer  was  given:  "Come  and  take  our 
weapons — if  you  can  !"  Though  the  Mexican  of 
ficer  had  a  force  which  outnumbered  the  settlers 
almost  ten  to  one,  he  prudently  decided  to  wait, 
for  even  in  those  days  the  fame  of  the  Texan  rifle 
men  had  spread  across  the  land. 

Meanwhile  horsemen  had  carried  the  news  of 
the  raid  on  Gonzales  to  the  outlying  ranches  and 
soon  the  settlers  came  pouring  in  until  by  night 
fall  they  very  nearly  equalled  the  soldiery  in  num 
ber.  Knowing  the  moral  effect  of  getting  in  the 
first  blow,  they  slipped  across  the  river  in  the 
dark  and  charged  the  Mexican  camp  with  an  im 
petuosity  and  fierceness  which  drove  the  troopers 
back  in  panic-stricken  retreat.  As  the  Texans 
were  going  into  action  a  parson  who  accompanied 
them  shouted:  "Remember,  men,  that  we're  fight 
ing  for  our  liberty !  Our  wives,  our  children,  our 
homes,  our  country  are  at  stake  !  The  strong  arm 
of  Jehovah  will  lead  us  on  to  victory  and  to  glory ! 
Come  on,  men  !  Come  on  !" 

The  news  of  this  victory,  though  insignificant  in 
itself,  was  as  kindling  thrown  on  the  fires  of  in- 

170 


Under  the  Flag  of  the  Lone  Star 

surrection.  The  settlers  in  Texas  rose  as  one.  In 
October,  1835,  in  a  pitched  battle  near  the  Mis 
sion  of  the  Immaculate  Conception,  outside  of 
San  Antonio,  ninety-four  Texan  farmers,  fresh 
from  the  plough,  whipped  four  times  that  num 
ber  of  Mexicans.  In  December,  after  a  five  days' 
siege,  the  Alamo,  in  San  Antonio,  was  carried  by 
storm,  General  Cos  and  fourteen  hundred  Mexican 
regulars,  with  twenty-one  pieces  of  artillery,  sur 
rendering  to  less  than  four  hundred  Texans.  By 
Christmas  of  1835  Texas  was  left  without  an 
armed  enemy  within  her  borders. 

When  word  was  brought  to  Santa  Anna  that 
the  garrison  of  the  Alamo  had  surrendered,  he 
behaved  like  a  madman.  With  clinched  fists  and 
uplifted  arms  he  swore  by  all  the  saints  in  the 
calendar  and  all  the  devils  in  hell  that  he  would 
never  unbuckle  his  sword-belt  until  Texas  was 
once  again  a  wilderness  and  every  gringo  settler 
was  a  fugitive,  a  prisoner,  or  a  corpse.  As  it  was 
at  San  Antonio  that  the  Mexicans  had  suffered 
their  most  humiliating  defeat,  so  it  was  San  An 
tonio  that  the  dictator  chose  as  the  place  where 
he  would  wash  out  that  defeat  in  blood,  and  on 
the  22d  of  February,  1836,  he  appeared  before 
the  city  at  the  head  of  six  thousand  troops — the 
flower  of  the  Mexican  army.  After  their  capture 

171 


The  Road  to  Glory 

of  San  Antonio  the  Texans,  most  of  whom  were 
farmers,  had  returned  to  their  homes  and  their 
crops,  Colonel  W.  Barrett  Travis  being  left  to 
hold  the  town  with  only  one  hundred  and  forty- 
five  men.  With  him  were  Davy  Crockett,  the 
stories  of  whose  exploits  on  the  frontier  were  al 
ready  familiar  in  every  American  household,  Bon- 
ham,  the  celebrated  scout  and  Indian  fighter,  and 
James  Bowie,  who,  in  a  duel  on  the  Natchez  River 
bar,  had  made  famous  the  terrible  long-bladed 
knife  which  his  brother  Rezin  had  made  from  a 
blacksmith's  file.  A  few  days  later  thirty-seven 
brave  hearts  from  Goliad  succeeded  in  breaking 
through  the  lines  of  the  besiegers,  bringing  the 
total  strength  of  the  garrison  up  to  one  hundred 
and  eighty-three.  Surrounding  them  was  an 
army  of  six  thousand  ! 

The  story  of  the  last  stand  in  the  Alamo  has 
been  told  so  often  that  I  hesitate  to  repeat  it 
here.  Yet  it  is  a  tale  of  which  Americans  can 
never  tire  any  more  than  they  can  tire  of  the 
story  of  Jones  and  the  Bonhomme  Richard,  or 
of  Perry  at  Lake  Erie.  The  Texans,  too  few  in 
numbers  to  dream  of  defending  the  town,  with 
drew  into  the  Alamo,  an  enormously  thick-walled 
building,  half  fortress  and  half  church,  which  de 
rived  its  name  from  being  built  in  a  clump  of 

172 


Under  the  Flag  of  the  Lone  Star 

alamos  or  cottonwood  trees.  For  eleven  days  the 
Mexicans  pounded  the  building  with  artillery  and 
raked  it  with  rifle  fire;  for  eleven  days  the  Texans 
held  them  back  in  that  historic  resistance  whose 
details  are  so  generally  and  so  uncertainly  known. 
Day  after  day  the  defenders  strained  their  eyes 
across  the  prairie  in  search  of  the  help  that  never 
came.  Day  after  day  the  blood-red  flag  that 
signified  "No  quarter"  floated  above  the  Mexi 
can  lines,  while  from  the  walls  of  the  Alamo 
flaunted  defiantly  the  flag  with  a  single  star. 

At  sunset  on  the  4th  of  March  the  Mexican 
bombardment  abruptly  ceased,  but  no  one  knew 
better  than  Travis  that  it  was  but  the  lull  which 
preceded  the  breaking  of  the  storm.  Drawing 
up  his  men  in  the  great  chapel,  Travis  drew  a 
line  across  the  earthen  floor  with  his  sword. 

"Men,"  he  said,  "it's  all  up  with  us.  A  few 
more  hours  and  we  shall  probably  all  be  dead. 
There's  no  use  hoping  for  help,  for  no  force  that 
our  friends  could  send  us  could  cut  its  way  through 
the  Mexican  lines.  So  there's  nothing  left  for  it 
but  to  stay  here  and  go  down  fighting.  When 
the  greasers  storm  the  walls  kill  them  as  they 
come  and  keep  on  killing  them  until  none  of  us 
are  left.  But  I  leave  it  to  every  man  to  decide 
for  himself.  Those  who  wish  to  go  out  and  sur- 

173 


The  Road  to  Glory 

render  may  do  so  and  I  shall  not  reproach  them. 
As  for  me,  I  shall  stay  here  and  die  for  Texas. 
Those  who  wish  to  stay  with  me  will  step  across 
this  line." 

There  was  not  so  much  as  a  flicker  of  hesita 
tion.  The  defenders  moved  across  the  line  as 
one.  Even  the  wounded  staggered  over  with  the 
others,  and  those  who  were  too  badly  wounded 
to  walk  dragged  themselves  across  on  hands  and 
knees.  Bowie,  who  was  ill  with  fever,  lay  on  his 
cot,  too  weak  to  move.  "  Boys,"  he  called  feebly, 
"boys,  I  don't  believe  I  can  get  over  alone  .  .  . 
won't  some  of  you  help  me?"  So  they  carried 
him  across  the  line,  bed  and  all.  It  was  a  pic 
ture  to  stir  the  imagination,  to  send  the  thrills  of 
patriotism  chasing  up  and  down  one's  spine:  the 
gloomy  chapel  with  its  adobe  walls  and  raftered 
ceiling;  the  line  of  stern-faced,  powder-grimed  men 
in  their  tattered  frontier  dress,  crimsoned  band 
ages  knotted  about  the  heads  of  many  of  them; 
the  fever-racked  but  indomitable  Bowie  stretched 
upon  his  cot;  the  young  commander — for  Travis 
was  but  twenty-seven — striding  up  and  down,  in 
his  hand  a  naked  sword,  in  his  eyes  the  fire  of 
patriotism. 

On  the  morning  of  the  6th  of  March,  before 
the  sun  had  risen,  Santa  Anna  launched  his  grand 

i74 


Under  the  Flag  of  the  Lone  Star 

assault.  Their  bugles  sounding  the  ominous  notes 
of  the  deguello,  which  signified  that  no  quarter 
would  be  given,  the  Mexican  infantry,  provided 
with  scaling-ladders,  swept  forward  at  the  double. 
Behind  them  rode  the  cavalry,  with  orders  to 
sabre  any  man  who  flinched.  As  the  Mexican 
columns  came  within  range  the  Texans  met  them 
with  a  blast  of  lead  which  shrivelled  and  scattered 
them  as  the  breath  of  winter  shrivels  and  scatters 
the  autumn  leaves.  The  men  behind  the  walls 
of  the  Alamo  were  master  marksmen  who  had 
taken  their  degree  in  shooting  from  the  stern  col 
lege  of  the  frontier,  and  they  proved  their  mar 
vellous  proficiency  that  day.  Crockett  and  Bon- 
ham  aimed  and  fired  as  fast  as  rifles  could  be 
loaded  and  passed  up  to  them,  and  at  every  spurt 
of  flame  a  little,  brown-faced  man  would  drop  with 
a  crimson  patch  on  the  breast  of  his  tunic  or  a 
round  blue  hole  in  his  forehead.  Any  troops  on 
earth  would  have  recoiled  in  the  face  of  that 
deadly  fire,  and  Santa  Anna's  were  no  exception. 
But  the  cavalry  rode  into  them  and  at  the  point 
of  their  sabres  forced  them  again  to  the  attack. 
Again  the  shattered  regiments  advanced  and  at 
tempted  to  place  their  ladders  against  the  walls, 
but  once  more  the  sheer  ferocity  of  the  Texan  de 
fense  sent  them  reeling  back,  bleeding  and  gasp- 


The  Road  to  Glory 

ing.  But  there  was  a  limit  even  to  the  powers 
of  resistance  of  the  Texans.  The  powder  in  their 
horns  ran  low;  their  arms  grew  weak  from  slay 
ing.  So,  when  the  wave  of  brown-skinned  soldiery 
rolled  forward  once  again  over  its  carpet  of  corpses, 
it  topped  and  overflowed  the  desperately  defended 
walls.  The  Texans,  whose  ammunition  was  vir 
tually  exhausted,  were  beaten  back  by  sheer 
weight  of  numbers,  but  they  rallied  in  the  patio 
and,  under  the  sky  of  Texas,  made  their  final 
stand.  What  happened  afterward  is,  and  always 
must  be,  a  matter  of  speculation.  No  one  knows 
the  story  of  the  end.  Even  the  number  of  vic 
tims  is  a  matter  of  dispute  to-day.  Some  say 
there  were  a  hundred  and  eighty-three  defenders, 
some  say  a  hundred  and  eighty-six.  Some  assert 
that  one  woman  escaped;  some  say  two;  others 
say  none.  Some  declared  that  a  negro  servant 
got  away;  others  declare  with  equal  positiveness 
that  he  did  not.  Some  state  that  half  a  dozen 
Americans  stood  at  bay  with  their  backs  to  the 
wall,  Crockett  among  them.  That  the  Mexican 
general,  Castrillon,  offered  them  their  lives  if  they 
would  surrender,  and  that,  when  they  took  him 
at  his  word,  he  ordered  them  shot  down  like 
dogs.  (Since  then  a  Mexican's  word  has  never 
been  good  for  anything  in  Texas.)  All  we  do 


Under  the  Flag  of  the  Lone  Star 

know  with  any  certainty  of  what  went  on  within 
those  blood-bespattered  walls  is  that  every  Ameri 
can  died  fighting.  Travis,  revolver  in  one  hand 
and  sword  in  the  other,  went  down  amid  a  ring 
of  men  that  he  had  slain.  Bowie,  propped  on  his 
pillows,  shot  two  soldiers  who  attempted  to  bayo 
net  him  as  he  lay  all  but  helpless  and  plunged 
his  terrible  knife  into  the  throat  of  another  before 
they  could  finish  him.  Crockett,  so  the  Mexicans 
related  afterward,  fought  to  the  last  with  his 
broken  rifle,  and  was  killed  against  the  wall,  but 
to  get  at  him  the  Mexicans  had  to  scramble  over 
a  heap  of  their  own  dead.  No  one  will  ever  know 
how  many  of  the  enemy  each  of  these  raging, 
fighting,  cornered  men  sent  down  the  long  and 
gloomy  road  before  he  followed  them.  The  pave 
ment  of  the  patio  was  scarlet.  The  dead  lay  piled 
in  heaps.  Not  an  American  remained  alive. 
Death  and  Santa  Anna  held  the  place.  As  the 
inscription  on  the  monument  which  was  raised  in 
later  years  to  the  defenders  reads:  "Thermopylae 
had  her  messenger  of  defeat;  the  Alamo  had  none." 
But  before  they  died,  the  ninescore  men  who  laid 
down  their  lives  for  Texas  sent  sixteen  hundred 
Mexicans  to  their  last  accounting. 

By   order  of  Santa   Anna,   the   bodies   of  the 
Texans  were  collected  in  a  huge  pile  and  burned, 

177 


The  Road  to  Glory 

while  the  Mexican  dead — sixteen  hundred  of 
them,  please  remember — were  buried  in  the  local 
cemetery.  As  Bowie's  body  was  brought  out, 
General  Cos  remarked:  "He  was  too  brave  a  man 
to  be  burned  like  a  dog — but  never  mind,  throw 
him  in."  As  the  Sabbath  sun  sank  slowly  into 
the  west  the  smoke  of  the  funeral  pyre  rose  against 
the  blood-red  sky  like  a  column  draped  in  mourn 
ing.  It  marked  something  more  than  the  end  of 
a  band  of  heroes;  it  marked  the  end  of  Mexican 
dominion  above  the  Rio  Grande. 

While  Santa  Anna  was  besieging  the  Alamo, 
General  Urrea  invaded  eastern  Texas  for  the  pur 
pose  of  capturing  San  Patricio,  Refugio,  and  Go- 
liad  and  thus  stamping  out  the  last  embers  of  in 
surrection.  It  was  not  a  campaign;  it  was  a 
butchery.  The  little  garrison  of  San  Patricio  was 
taken  by  surprise  and  every  man  put  to  death. 
At  Refugio,  however,  a  force  of  little  more  than 
a  hundred  men  under  Colonel  Ward  repulsed  the 
Mexicans,  whose  loss  in  killed  and  wounded  was 
double  the  entire  number  of  the  defenders.  A 
few  days  later,  however,  Ward  and  his  men, 
while  falling  back,  were  surrounded  and  taken 
prisoners.  When  Urrea's  column  appeared  before 
Goliad,  Colonel  Fannin,  whose  force  was  out 
numbered  six  to  one,  ordered  a  retreat,  feeling 


Bowie,  propped  on  his  pillows,  shot  two  soldiers  and  plunged 
his  terrible  knife  into  the  throat  of  another. 


Under  the  Flag  of  the  Lone  Star 

confident  that  the  Mexicans,  for  whose  fighting 
abilities  the  Texans  had  the  utmost  contempt, 
would  not  dare  to  follow  them.  But  the  Texans 
made  the  fatal  mistake  of  underrating  their  ad 
versaries,  for,  before  they  had  fallen  back  a  dozen 
miles,  they  found  themselves  hemmed  in  by  two 
thousand  Mexicans.  Escape  was  out  of  the  ques 
tion,  so  Fannin  formed  his  three  hundred  men  in 
hollow  square  and  prepared  to  put  up  one  of 
those  fight-till-the-last-man-falls  resistances  for 
which  the  Texans  had  become  famous.  Being 
cut  off  from  water,  however,  and  with  a  third  of 
his  men  wounded,  he  realized  that  his  chances  of 
success  were  represented  by  a  minus  sign;  so, 
when  the  Mexican  commander,  who  had  been 
heavily  reinforced,  offered  to  parole  both  officers 
and  men  and  return  them  to  the  United  States 
if  they  would  surrender,  Fannin  accepted  the  offer 
and  ordered  his  men  to  stack  their  arms.  The 
terms  of  the  surrender  were  written  in  both  Eng 
lish  and  Spanish,  and  were  signed  by  the  ranking 
officers  of  both  forces  with  every  formality. 

The  Texan  prisoners  were  marched  back  under 
guard  to  Goliad,  the  town  they  had  so  recently 
evacuated,  and  were  confined  in  the  old  fort, 
where  they  were  joined  a  few  days  later  by  Colo 
nel  Ward's  command,  who,  as  you  will  remem- 

179 


The  Road  to  Glory 

her,  had  also  been  captured.  On  the  night  of 
the  26th  of  March  a  despatch  rider  rode  into 
Urrea's  camp  bearing  a  message  from  Santa  Anna. 
It  contained  an  order  for  the  murder  of  all  the 
prisoners.  The  next  day  was  Palm  Sunday.  At 
dawn  the  Texans  were  awakened  and  ordered 
to  form  ranks  in  the  courtyard.  They  were  then 
divided  into  four  parties  and  marched  off  in  dif 
ferent  directions  under  heavy  guard.  They  had 
not  proceeded  a  mile  across  the  prairies  before 
they  were  halted  and  their  captors  deliberately 
poured  volley  after  volley  into  them  until  not  a 
Texan  was  left  standing.  Then  the  cavalry  rode 
over  the  corpse-strewn  ground,  hacking  with  their 
sabres  at  the  dead.  Upward  of  four  hundred 
Texans  were  slaughtered  at  Goliad.  The  de 
fenders  of  the  Alamo  died  fighting  with  weapons 
in  their  hands,  but  these  men  were  unarmed  and 
defenseless  prisoners,  butchered  in  cold  blood  in 
one  of  the  most  atrocious  massacres  of  history. 

With  the  extermination  of  the  Texan  garrisons, 
Santa  Anna  complacently  assured  himself  that  his 
work  in  the  north  was  finished  and  prepared  to 
return  to  the  capital,  where  he  was  badly  needed. 
It  is  never  safe,  you  see,  for  a  dictator  to  leave 
the  chair  of  state  for  long,  else  he  is  likely  to  re 
turn  and  find  a  rival  sitting  in  it.  Now,  however, 

1 80 


Under  the  Flag  of  the  Lone  Star 

Santa  Anna  felt  that  the  Texan  uprising  was,  to 
make  use  of  a  slangy  but  expressive  phrase,  all 
over  but  the  shouting.  But  the  Texans,  as  stout 
old  John  Paul  Jones  would  have  put  it,  had  only 
just  begun  to  fight.  Learning  that  a  force  of 
Texan  volunteers  was  mobilizing  upon  the  San 
Jacinto,  the  "Napoleon  of  the  West,"  as  Santa 
Anna  modestly  described  himself,  decided  to  de 
lay  his  departure  long  enough  to  invade  the 
country  north  of  Galveston  and  put  the  finishing 
touches  to  the  subjugation  of  Texas  by  means  of 
a  final  carnival  of  blood  and  fire.  Theoretically, 
everything  favored  the  dictator.  He  had  money; 
he  had  ample  supplies  of  arms  and  ammunition; 
he  had  a  force  of  trained  and  seasoned  veterans 
far  outnumbering  any  with  which  the  Texans 
could  oppose  him.  It  was  to  be  a  veritable  pic 
nic  of  a  campaign,  a  sort  of  butchers'  holiday.  In 
making  his  plans,  however,  Santa  Anna  failed  to 
take  a  certain  gentleman  into  consideration.  The 
name  of  that  gentleman  was  Sam  Houston. 

The  chronicles  of  our  frontier  record  the  name 
of  no  more  picturesque  and  striking  figure  than 
Houston.  The  fertile  brain  of  George  A.  Henty 
could  not  have  made  to  order  a  more  satisfactory 
or  wholly  improbable  hero.  Though  his  exploits 
are  a  part  of  history,  they  read  like  the  wildest 

181 


The  Road  to  Glory 

fiction.  That  is  why,  perhaps,  the  dry-as-dust 
historians  make  so  little  mention  of  him.  The 
incidents  in  his  life  would  provide  a  moving-pic 
ture  company  with  material  for  a  year.  Born  in 
the  Blue  Ridge  Mountains  of  Virginia,  his  father, 
who  had  been  an  officer  in  the  Revolution,  an 
swered  to  the  last  roll-call  when  young  Sam  had 
barely  entered  his  teens.  The  support  of  a  large 
and  growing  family  thus  falling  upon  the  ener 
getic  shoulders  of  Mrs.  Houston,  she  packed  her 
household  goods  in  a  prairie-schooner  and  moved 
with  her  children  to  Tennessee,  then  upon  the 
very  edge  of  civilization.  Here  Sam,  who  had 
learned  his  "three  RV  in  such  poor  schools  as 
the  Virginia  of  those  early  days  afforded,  attended 
a  local  academy  for  a  time.  Translations  of  the 
classics  having  fallen  into  his  hands,  his  imagina 
tion  was  captured  by  the  exploits  of  the  heroes 
of  antiquity,  and  he  asked  permission  of  the  prin 
cipal  to  study  Latin,  which,  for  some  unexplain- 
able  reason,  was  curtly  refused  him.  Whereupon 
he  walked  out  of  the  academy,  declaring  that  he 
would  never  repeat  another  lesson. 

His  family,  who  had  scant  sympathy  with  his 
romantic  fancies,  procured  him  a  job  as  clerk  in 
a  crossroads  store.  Within  a  fortnight  he  was 
missing.  After  some  months  of  anxiety  his  rela- 

182 


Under  the  Flag  of  the  Lone  Star 

tives  learned  that  he  was  living  among  the  Cher 
okee  Indians  across  the  Tennessee.  When  one  of 
his  brothers  attempted  to  induce  him  to  return 
home,  young  Sam  answered  that  he  preferred 
measuring  deer  tracks  to  measuring  tape,  and 
that,  if  he  was  not  permitted  to  study  Latin  in 
the  academy,  he  could  at  least  dig  it  out  for  him 
self  in  the  freedom  of  the  woods.  Houston  dwelt 
for  several  years  with  his  Cherokee  friends,  even 
tually  being  adopted  as  a  son  by  the  chieftain 
Oolooteka.  Upon  the  outbreak  of  our  second 
war  with  Great  Britain  he  enlisted  in  the  Ameri 
can  army.  Though  his  friends  remonstrated  with 
him  for  entering  the  army  as  a  private  soldier, 
his  mother  was  made  of  different  stuff.  As  he 
was  leaving  for  the  front  she  took  down  his  father's 
rifle  and,  with  tear-dimmed  eyes,  handed  it  to  her 
son.  "Here,  my  boy,"  she  said  bravely,  though 
her  voice  quavered,  "take  this  rifle  and  never 
disgrace  it.  Remember  that  I  would  rather  that 
all  my  sons  should  lie  in  honorable  graves  than 
that  one  of  them  should  turn  his  back  to  save 
his  life.  Go,  and  God  be  with  you,  but  never 
forget  that,  while  my  door  is  always  open  to  brave 
men,  it  is  always  shut  to  cowards." 

Houston  quickly  climbed  the  ladder  of  promo 
tion,  obtaining  a  commission  within  a  year  after 

183 


The  Road  to  Glory 

he  had  enlisted  as  a  private.  He  first  showed  the 
stern  stuff  of  which  he  was  made  when  taking 
part  in  General  Jackson's  campaign  against  the 
Creek  Indians.  His  thigh  pierced  by  an  arrow 
during  the  storming  of  the  Indian  breastworks  at 
Tohopeka,  Houston  asked  a  fellow  officer  to  draw 
it  out.  But  it  was  sunk  so  deeply  in  the  flesh 
that  the  attempt  to  extract  it  brought  on  an 
alarming  flow  of  blood,  whereupon  the  officer  re 
fused  to  proceed,  fearing  that  Houston  would 
bleed  to  death.  Thereupon  the  fiery  youngster 
drew  his  sword.  "Draw  it  out  or  I'll  run  you 
through!"  he  said.  Out  the  arrow  came.  Gen 
eral  Jackson,  who  had  witnessed  the  incident  and 
had  noted  the  seriousness  of  the  young  officer's 
wound,  ordered  him  to  the  rear,  but  Houston, 
mindful  of  his  mother's  parting  injunction,  dis 
regarded  the  order  and  plunged  again  into  the 
thick  of  the  battle.  It  was  a  breach  of  discipline, 
however,  to  which  Andrew  Jackson  shut  his  eyes. 
Opportunity  once  more  knocked  loudly  at  young 
Houston's  door  when  the  Creeks  made  their  final 
stand  at  Horseshoe  Bend.  After  the  main  body 
of  the  Indians  had  been  destroyed,  a  party  of  war 
riors  barricaded  themselves  in  a  log  cabin  built 
over  a  ravine  in  such  a  situation  that  the  guns 
could  not  be  brought  to  bear.  The  place  must 

184 


Under  the  Flag  of  the  Lone  Star 

be  taken  by  storm,  and  Jackson  called  for  volun 
teers.  Houston  was  the  only  man  who  responded. 
Snatching  a  rifle  from  a  soldier,  he  shouted,  "Come 
on,  men!  Follow  me!"  and  dashed  toward  the 
cabin.  But  no  one  had  the  courage  to  follow  him 
into  the  ravine  of  death.  Running  in  zigzags,  to 
disconcert  the  Indian  marksmen,  he  actually 
reached  the  cabin  before  he  fell  with  a  shattered 
arm  and  two  rifle-bullets  through  his  shoulder. 
It  was  just  the  sort  of  deed  to  win  the  heart  of 
the  grim  old  hero  of  New  Orleans,  who  until  his 
death  remained  one  of  Houston's  staunchest 
friends  and  admirers. 

Seeing  but  scant  prospects  of  promotion  in  the 
piping  times  of  peace  which  now  ensued,  Houston 
resigned  from  the  army,  took  up  the  study  of  law, 
and  was  admitted  to  the  bar  within  a  year  from 
the  time  he  opened  his  first  law  book.  He  prac 
tised  for  a  few  years  with  marked  success,  gave 
up  the  law  for  the  more  exciting  field  of  politics, 
was  elected  to  Congress  when  only  thirty,  and 
four  years  later  became  Governor  of  Tennes 
see.  As  the  result  of  an  unhappy  marriage,  and 
deeply  wounded  by  the  outrageous  and  baseless 
accusations  made  by  his  political  opponents,  he 
resigned  the  governorship  and  went  into  volun 
tary  exile.  In  his  trouble  he  turned  his  face  to- 


The  Road  to  Glory 

ward  the  wigwam  of  his  adopted  father,  Ooloo- 
teka,  who  had  become  the  head  chief  of  his  tribe 
and  had  moved  from  the  banks  of  the  Tennessee 
to  the  falls  of  the  Arkansas.  Though  eleven 
eventful  years  had  passed,  the  old  chiefs  affec 
tion  for  his  white  son  had  not  diminished,  and 
the  exile  found  a  warm  welcome  awaiting  him  in 
the  wigwams  and  beside  the  council-fires  of  his 
adopted  people.  Learning  of  the  frauds  by  which 
the  Indian  agents  were  enriching  themselves  at 
the  expense  of  the  nation's  wards,  Houston,  who 
had  adopted  Indian  dress,  went  to  Washington 
and  laid  the  facts  before  Secretary  Calhoun,  who, 
instead  of  thanking  him,  rebuked  him  for  presum 
ing  to  appear  before  him  in  the  dress  of  an  In 
dian.  Thereupon  Houston  turned  his  back  on 
the  secretary,  and  went  straight  to  his  old-time 
friend,  President  Jackson,  who  promptly  saw  to 
it  that  the  guilty  officials  were  punished.  When 
the  story  of  Calhoun's  criticism  of  Houston's  cos 
tume  was  repeated  to  the  President,  that  rough 
old  soldier  remarked  dryly:  "I'm  glad  there  is 
one  man  of  my  acquaintance  who  was  made  by 
the  Almighty  and  not  by  the  tailor." 

After  three  years  of  forest  life  among  the  In 
dians  Houston  decided  to  emigrate  to  Texas  and 
become  a  ranchman,  setting  out  with  a  few  com- 

186 


Under  the  Flag  of  the  Lone  Star 

panions  in  December,  1832,  for  San  Antonio. 
The  romantic  story  of  Houston's  self-imposed  exile 
had  resulted  in  making  him  a  national  figure,  and 
the  news  that  he  had  come  to  Texas  spread  among 
the  settlers  like  fire  in  dry  grass.  Before  reaching 
Nacogdoches  he  learned  that  he  had  been  unani 
mously  elected  a  member  of  the  convention  which 
had  been  called  to  meet  at  Austin  in  the  spring 
of  1833  to  draft  a  constitution  for  Texas.  From 
that  time  onward  his  story  is  that  of  his  adopted 
country.  When  the  rupture  with  Mexico  came, 
in  1835,  as  a  result  of  the  attempt  to  disarm  the 
settlers  at  Gonzales,  Houston  was  chosen  com 
mander  of  the  volunteer  forces  to  be  raised  in 
eastern  Texas,  and  after  the  battle  at  the  Mission 
of  the  Immaculate  Conception  he  was  appointed 
commander-in-chief  of  the  Texan  army. 

When  Santa  Anna,  flushed  by  his  bloody  suc 
cesses  at  the  Alamo  and  Goliad,  started  to  invade 
central  Texas,  in  the  spring  of  1836,  Houston,  who 
had  been  able  to  raise  a  force  of  barely  five  hun 
dred  untrained  and  ill-armed  men,  sullenly  re 
treated  before  the  advance  of  the  dictator.  On 
the  1 8th  of  April,  however,  his  plan  of  campaign 
was  suddenly  reversed  by  the  capture  of  two 
Mexicans,  from  whom  he  learned  what  he  had  not 
positively  known  before:  that  Santa  Anna  him- 

187 


The  Road  to  Glory 

self  was  with  the  advance  column  and  that  he 
was  temporarily  cut  off  from  the  other  divisions 
of  his  army.  The  chance  for  which  Houston  was 
waiting  had  come,  and  he  seized  it  before  it  could 
get  away.  If  Texas  was  to  be  free,  if  the  Lone 
Star  flag  and  not  the  flag  with  the  emblem  of 
the  serpent  and  the  buzzard  was  to  wave  over  the 
region  above  the  Rio  Grande,  it  was  now  or  never. 
There  were  no  half-way  measures  with  Sam  Hous 
ton;  he  determined  to  stake  everything  upon  a 
single  throw.  If  he  won,  Texas  would  be  free;  if 
he  lost  he  and  his  men  could  only  go  down  fight 
ing,  as  their  fellows  had  gone  before  them.  Push 
ing  on  to  a  point  near  the  mouth  of  the  San  Ja- 
cinto,  where  it  empties  into  the  Bay  of  Galveston, 
he  carefully  selected  the  spot  for  his  last  stand, 
mounted  the  two  brass  cannon  known  as  "the 
Twin  Sisters,"  which  had  been  presented  to  the 
Texans  by  Northern  sympathizers,  and  sat  down 
to  wait  for  the  coming  of  "the  Napoleon  of  the 
West."  On  the  morning  of  the  2Oth  of  April  his 
pickets  fell  back  before  the  Mexican  advance, 
and  the  two  great  antagonists,  Houston  and  Santa 
Anna,  at  last  found  themselves  face  to  face.  The 
dictator  had  with  him  fifteen  hundred  men; 
Houston  had  less  than  half  that  number — but  the 
Texans  boasted  that  "two  to  one  was  always  fair." 

1 88 


Under  the  Flag  of  the  Lone  Star 

At  daybreak  on  the  2ist  Houston  sent  for  his 
chief  of  scouts,  the  famous  Deaf  Smith,*  and  or 
dered  him  to  choose  a  companion,  take  axes,  and 
secretly  destroy  the  bridge  across  the  San  Jacinto. 
As  the  bridge  was  the  only  means  of  retreat  for 
miles  around,  this  drastic  step  meant  utter  de 
struction  to  the  conquered.  Talk  about  Cortes 
burning  his  boats  behind  him !  He  showed  not  a 
whit  more  courage  than  did  Houston  when  he 
destroyed  the  bridge  across  the  San  Jacinto.  At 
3  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  he  quietly  paraded  his 
little  army  behind  the  low  range  of  hills  which 
screened  them  from  the  enemy,  who  were  still 
drowsing  in  their  customary  siesta.  At  this  psy 
chological  moment  Deaf  Smith,  following  to  the 
letter  the  instructions  Houston  had  given  him, 
tore  up  on  a  reeking  horse,  waving  his  axe  above 
his  head,  and  shouted:  "Vince's  Bridge  is  down! 
We've  got  to  fight  or  drown!"  That  was  the 
word  for  which  Houston  had  been  waiting.  In 
stantly  he  ordered  his  whole  line  to  advance. 
The  only  music  of  the  Texans  was  a  fife  and  a 


*  Erastus  Smith,  known  as  Deaf  Smith  because  he  was  hard  of 
hearing,  first  came  to  Texas  in  1817  with  one  of  the  filibustering 
forces  that  were  constantly  arriving  in  that  province.  He  was  a 
man  of  remarkable  gravity  and  few  words,  seldom  answering  except 
in  monosyllables.  His  coolness  in  danger  made  his  services  as  a  spy 
invaluable  to  the  Texans. 

189 


The  Road  to  Glory 

drum,  the  musicians  playing  them  into  action  to 
the  rollicking  tune  of  "Come  to  the  Bower." 
And  it  was  no  bower  of  roses,  either.  As  they 
swept  into  view,  rifles  at  the  trail  and  moving  at 
the  double,  the  Mexicans,  though  startled  at  the 
unexpectedness  of  the  attack,  met  them  with  a 
raking  fire  of  musketry.  But  the  sight  of  the 
brown-faced  men,  and  of  the  red-white-and-green 
banner  which  flaunted  above  them,  infuriated  the 
Texans  to  the  point  of  frenzy.  Losing  all  sem 
blance  of  formation,  they  raced  forward  as  fast 
as  they  could  put  foot  to  ground. 

In  front  of  them  rode  the  herculean  Houston, 
a  striking  figure  on  his  white  horse.  "Come  on, 
boys!"  he  thundered.  "Get  at  'em!  Get  at 
'em!  Texans,  Texans,  follow  me!"  And  follow 
him  they  did,  surging  forward  with  the  irresisti 
bility  of  a  tidal  wave.  "Remember  the  Alamo  !" 
they  roared.  "  Remember  Goliad !  Remember 
Travis !  Remember  Jim  Bowie !  Remember 
Davy  Crockett !  Kill  the  damned  greasers  !  Cut 
their  hearts  out!  Kill  'em!  Kill  'em!  Kill 
'em!" 

In  the  face  of  the  maddened  onslaught  the 
Mexican  line  crumbled  like  a  hillside  before  the 
stream  from  a  hydraulic  nozzle.  Before  the  de 
moralized  Mexicans  had  time  to  realize  what 

190 


Under  the  Flag  of  the  Lone  Star 

had  happened  the  Texans  were  in  their  midst. 
Many  of  them  were  "two-gun  men,"  who  fought 
with  a  revolver  in  each  hand — and  at  every  shot 
a  Mexican  fell.  Others  avenged  the  murdered 
Bowie  with  the  wicked  knife  which  bore  his  name, 
slashing  and  ripping  and  stabbing  with  the  long, 
savage  blades  until  they  looked  like  poleaxe  men 
in  an  abattoir.  In  vain  the  terrified  Mexicans 
threw  down  their  arms  and  fell  upon  their  knees, 
pattering  out  prayers  in  Spanish  and  calling  in 
their  broken  English:  "Me  no  Alamo!  Me  no 
Goliad!"  Within  five  minutes  after  the  Texans 
had  come  to  hand-grips  with  their  foe  the  battle 
had  turned  into  a  slaughter.  Houston  was  shot 
through  the  ankle  and  his  horse  was  dying,  but 
man  and  horse  struggled  on.  Deaf  Smith  drove 
his  horse  into  the  thick  of  the  fight  and,  as  it  fell 
dead  beneath  him,  he  turned  his  long-barrelled 
rifle  into  a  war-club  and  literally  smashed  his 
way  through  the  Mexican  line,  leaving  a  trail  of 
men  with  broken  skulls  behind  him.  An  old 
frontiersman  named  Curtis  went  into  action  car 
rying  two  guns.  "The  greasers  killed  my  son 
and  my  son-in-law  at  the  Alamo,"  he  shouted, 
"and  I'm  going  to  get  two  of  'em  before  I  die, 
and  if  I  get  old  Santa  Anna  I'll  cut  a  razor-strop 
from  his  back. " 

191 


The  Road  to  Glory 

The  commander  of  one  of  the  Mexican  regi 
ments  attempted  to  stem  the  tide  of  defeat  by 
charging  the  Texan  line  at  its  weakest  point  with 
five  hundred  men.  Houston,  instantly  appreci 
ating  the  peril,  dashed  in  front  of  his  men.  "  Come 
on,  my  brave  fellows  !"  he  shouted,  "your  general 
leads  you!"  They  met  the  charging  Mexicans 
half-way,  stopped  them  with  a  withering  volley, 
and  then  finished  the  business  with  the  knife. 
Only  thirty-two  of  the  five  hundred  Mexicans 
were  left  alive  to  surrender.  Everywhere  sounded 
the  grunt  of  blows  sent  home,  the  scream  of 
wounded  men,  the  choking  sobs  of  the  dying,  the 
crack-crack-crack  of  rifle  and  revolver,  the  grating 
rasp  of  steel  on  steel,  the  harsh,  shrill  orders  of 
the  officers,  the  trample  of  many  feet,  and,  above 
all,  the  deep-throated,  menacing  cry  of  the  aveng 
ing  Texans :  "  Remember  the  Alamo  !  Remember 
Goliad  !  Kill  the  greasers  !  Kill  'em  !  Kill  'em  ! 
Kill 'em!" 

In  fifteen  minutes  the  battle  of  the  San  Jacinto 
was  over,  and  all  that  was  left  of  Santa  Anna's 
army  of  invasion  was  a  panic-stricken  mob  of 
fugitives  flying  blindly  across  the  prairie.  Hard 
on  their  heels  galloped  the  Texan  cavalry,  cutting 
down  the  stragglers  with  theV  sabres  and  herd 
ing  the  bulk  of  the  flying  army  toward  the  river 

192 


Under  the  Flag  of  the  Lone  Star 

as  cow-punchers  herd  cattle  into  a  corral.  And 
the  bridge  was  gone !  Before  the  Mexicans  rolled 
the  deep  and  turbid  San  Jacinto;  coming  up  be 
hind  them  were  the  blood-crazed  Texans.  It  was 
death  on  either  hand.  Some  of  them  spurred 
their  horses  into  the  river,  only  to  be  picked  off 
with  rifle-bullets  as  they  tried  to  swim  across. 
Others  threw  down  their  weapons  and  waited 
stolidly  for  the  fatal  stroke  or  shot.  It  was  a 
bloody  business.  Modern  history  records  few,  if 
any,  more  sweeping  victories.  Of  Santa  Anna's 
army  of  something  over  fifteen  hundred  men  six 
hundred  and  thirty  were  killed,  two  hundred  and 
eight  wounded,  and  seven  hundred  and  thirty 
taken  prisoners. 

The  finishing  touch  was  put  to  Houston's  tri 
umph  on  the  following  morning  when  a  scouting 
party,  scouring  the  prairie  in  search  of  fugitives, 
discovered  a  man  in  the  uniform  of  a  common 
soldier  attempting  to  escape  on  hands  and  knees 
through  the  high  grass.  He  was  captured  and 
marched  nine  miles  to  the  Texan  camp,  plodding 
on  foot  in  the  dust  in  front  of  his  mounted  cap 
tors.  When  he  lagged  one  of  them  would  prick 
him  with  his  lance  point  until  he  broke  into  a 
run.  As  the  Texans  rode  into  camp  with  their 
panting  and  exhausted  captive,  the  Mexican  pris- 


The  Road  to  Glory 

oners  excitedly  exclaimed:  "El  Presidente!  El 
President* i"  It  was  Santa  Anna,  dictator  of 
Mexico — a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  men  whom 
he  had  boasted  that  he  would  make  fugitives, 
prisoners,  or  corpses.  Lying  under  the  tree  where 
he  had  spent  the  night,  the  wounded  Houston  re 
ceived  the  surrender  of  "the  Napoleon  of  the 
West."  The  war  of  independence  was  over. 
Texas  was  a  republic  in  fact  as  well  as  in  name, 
and  the  hero  of  the  San  Jacinto  became  its  presi 
dent.  The  defenders  of  the  Alamo  and  Goliad 
were  avenged.  From  the  Sabine  to  the  Rio 
Grande  the  lone-star  flag  flew  free. 


194 


THE  PREACHER  WHO  RODE  FOR  AN 
EMPIRE 


THE  PREACHER  WHO  RODE  FOR  AN 
EMPIRE 

THIS  is  the  forgotten  story  of  the  greatest 
ride.  The  history  of  the  nation  has  been 
punctuated  with  other  great  rides,  it  is  true. 
Paul  Revere  rode  thirty  miles  to  rouse  the  Mid 
dlesex  minutemen  and  save  from  capture  the  guns 
and  powder  stored  at  Concord;  Sheridan  rode 
the  twenty  miles  from  Winchester  to  Cedar  Creek 
and  by  his  thunderous  "Turn,  boys,  turn — we're 
going  back!"  saved  the  battle — and  the  names  of 
them  both  are  immortalized  in  verse  that  is  more 
enduring  than  iron.  Whitman,  the  missionary, 
rode  four  thousand  miles  and  saved  us  an  em 
pire,  and  his  name  is  not  known  at  all. 

Though  there  were  other  actors  in  the  great 
drama  which  culminated  in  the  grim  old  preach 
er's  memorable  ride — suave,  frock-coated  diplo 
mats  and  furtive  secret  agents  and  sun-bronzed, 
leather-shirted  frontiersmen  and  bearded  factors 
of  the  fur  trade — the  story  rightfully  begins  and 
ends  with  Indians.  There  were  four  of  them,  all 
chieftains,  and  the  beaded  patterns  on  their  gar- 

197 


The  Road  to  Glory 

ments  of  fringed  buckskin  and  the  fashion  in 
which  they  wore  the  feathers  in  their  hair  told 
the  plainsmen  as  plainly  as  though  they  had 
been  labelled  that  they  were  listened  to  with  re 
spect  in  the  councils  of  the  Flathead  tribe,  whose 
tepees  were  pitched  in  the  far  nor'west.  They 
rode  their  lean  and  wiry  ponies  up  the  dusty, 
unpaved  thoroughfare  in  St.  Louis  known  as 
Broadway  one  afternoon  in  the  late  autumn  of 
1832.  Though  the  St.  Louis  of  three  quarters  of 
a  century  ago  was  but  an  outpost  on  civilization's 
firing-line  and  its  six  thousand  inhabitants  were 
accustomed  to  seeing  the  strange,  wild  figures  of 
the  plains,  the  sudden  appearance  of  these  In 
dian  braves,  who  came  riding  out  of  nowhere, 
clad  in  all  the  barbaric  panoply  of  their  rank, 
caused  a  distinct  flutter  of  curiosity. 

The  news  of  their  arrival  being  reported  to 
General  Clarke,  the  military  commandant,  he 
promptly  assumed  the  ciceronage  of  the  bewil 
dered  but  impassive  red  men.  Having,  as  it 
chanced,  been  an  Indian  commissioner  in  his  ear 
lier  years,  he  knew  the  tribe  well  and  could  speak 
with  them  in  their  own  guttural  tongue.  Beyond 
vouchsafing  the  information  that  they  came  from 
the  upper  reaches  of  the  Columbia,  from  the 
country  known  as  Oregon,  and  that  they  had 

198 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

spent  the  entire  summer  and  fall  upon  their  jour 
ney,  the  Indians,  with  characteristic  reticence, 
gave  no  explanation  of  the  purpose  of  their  visit. 
After  some  days  had  passed,  however,  they  con 
fided  to  General  Clarke  that  rumors  had  filtered 
through  to  their  tribe  of  the  white  man's  "  Book 
of  Life,"  and  that  they  had  been  sent  to  seek  it. 
To  a  seasoned  old  frontiersman  like  the  general, 
this  was  a  novel  proposition  to  come  from  a 
tribe  of  remote  and  untamed  Indians.  He  treated 
the  tribal  commissioners,  nevertheless,  with  the  ut 
most  hospitality,  taking  them  to  dances  and  such 
other  entertainments  as  the  limited  resources  of 
the  St.  Louis  of  those  days  permitted,  and,  being 
himself  a  devout  Catholic,  to  his  own  church. 
Thus  passed  the  winter,  during  which  two  of  the 
chiefs  died,  as  a  result,  no  doubt,  of  the  indoor 
life  and  the  unaccustomed  richness  of  the  food. 
When  the  tawny  prairies  became  polka-dotted 
with  bunch-grass  in  the  spring,  the  two  survi 
vors  made  preparations  for  their  departure,  but, 
before  they  left,  General  Clarke,  who  had  taken 
a  great  liking  to  these  dignified  and  intelligent 
red  men,  insisted  on  giving  them  a  farewell  ban 
quet.  After  the  dinner  the  elder  of  the  chiefs 
was  called  upon  for  a  speech.  You  must  picture 
him  as  standing  with  folded  arms,  tall,  straight 

199 


The  Road  to  Glory 

and  of  commanding  presence,  at  the  head  of  the 
long  table,  a  most  dramatic  and  impressive  fig 
ure  in  his  garments  of  quill-embroidered  buck 
skin,  with  an  eagle  feather  slanting  in  his  hair. 
He  spoke  with  the  guttural  but  sonorous  elo 
quence  of  his  people,  and  after  each  period  Gen 
eral  Clarke  translated  what  he  had  said  to  the 
attentive  audience  of  army  officers,  government 
officials,  priests,  merchants,  and  traders  who  lined 
the  table. 

"I  have  come  to  you,  my  brothers,"  he  began, 
"over  the  trail  of  many  moons  from  out  of  the 
setting  sun.  You  were  the  friends  of  my  fathers, 
who  have  all  gone  the  long  way.  I  have  come 
with  an  eye  partly  open  for  my  people,  who  sit 
in  darkness.  I  go  back  with  both  eyes  closed. 
How  can  I  go  back  blind,  to  my  blind  people  ? 
I  made  my  way  to  you  with  strong  arms  through 
many  enemies  and  strange  lands  that  I  might 
carry  much  back  to  them.  I  go  back  with  both 
arms  broken  and  empty.  Two  fathers  came  with 
us;  they  were  the  braves  of  many  winters  and 
wars.  We  leave  them  asleep  here  by  your  great 
water  and  wigwams.  They  were  tired  in  many 
moons,  and  their  moccasins  wore  out. 

"My  people  sent  me  to  get  the  white  man's 
Book  of  Life.  You  took  me  to  where  you  allow 

200 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

your  women  to  dance  as  we  do  not  ours,  and  the 
Book  was  not  there.  You  took  me  to  where  they 
worship  the  Great  Spirit  with  candles,  and  the 
Book  was  not  there.  You  showed  me  images  of 
the  good  spirits  and  pictures  of  the  good  land 
beyond,  but  the  Book  was  not  among  them  to 
tell  us  the  way.  I  am  going  back  the  long  and 
sad  trail  to  my  people  in  the  dark  land.  You 
make  my  feet  heavy  with  gifts,  and  my  mocca 
sins  will  grow  old  in  carrying  them;  yet  the  Book 
is  not  among  them.  When  I  tell  my  poor,  blind 
people,  after  one  more  snow,  in  the  big  council 
that  I  did  not  bring  the  Book,  no  word  will  be 
spoken  by  our  old  men  or  by  our  young  braves. 
One  by  one  they  will  rise  up  and  go  out  in  silence. 
My  people  will  die  in  darkness,  and  they  will  go 
on  a  long  path  to  other  hunting-grounds.  No 
white  man  will  go  with  them  and  no  white  man's 
Book  to  make  the  way  plain.  I  have  no  more 
words." 

Just  as  the  rude  eloquence  of  the  appeal  touched 
the  hearts  of  the  frontier  dwellers  who  sat  about 
the  table  in  St.  Louis,  so,  when  it  was  translated 
and  published  in  the  Eastern  papers,  it  touched 
the  hearts  and  fired  the  imaginations  of  the  na 
tion.  In  a  ringing  editorial  The  Christian  Advo 
cate  asked:  "Who  will  respond  to  go  beyond  the 

201 


The  Road  to  Glory 

Rocky  Mountains  and  carry  the  Book  of  Heaven  ?" 
And  this  was  the  cue  for  the  missionary  whose 
name  was  Marcus  Whitman  to  set  foot  upon  the 
boards  of  history. 

His  preparation  for  a  frontiersman's  life  began 
early  for  young  Whitman.  Born  in  Connecticut 
when  the  eighteenth  century  had  all  but  run  its 
course,  he  was  still  in  his  swaddling-clothes  when 
his  parents,  falling  victims  to  the  prevalent  fever 
for  "going  west,"  piled  their  lares  and  penates 
into  an  ox-cart  and  trekked  overland  to  the  fertile 
lake  region  of  central  New  York,  Mrs.  Whitman 
making  the  four-hundred-mile  journey  on  foot, 
with  her  year-old  babe  in  her  arms.  Building  a 
cabin  with  the  tree  trunks  cleared  from  the  site, 
they  began  the  usual  pioneer's  struggle  for  exis 
tence.  His  father  dying  before  he  had  reached 
his  teens,  young  Marcus  was  sent  to  live  with 
his  grandfather  in  Plamfield,  Mass.,  where  he  re 
mained  ten  years,  learning  his  "three  R's"  in 
such  schools  as  the  place  afforded,  his  education 
later  being  taken  in  hand  by  the  local  parson. 
His  youth  was  passed  in  the  usual  life  of  the 
country  boy;  to  drive  home  the  cows  and  milk 
them,  to  chop  the  wood  and  carry  the  water  and 
do  the  other  household  chores,  and,  later  on,  to 
plough  and  plant  the  fields — a  training  which  was 

202 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

to  prove  invaluable  to  him  in  after  years,  on  the 
shores  of  another  ocean.  I  expect  that  the  strong, 
sturdy  boy  of  ceaseless  activity  and  indomitable 
will — the  Plainfield  folk  called  him  mischievous 
and  stubborn — who  was  fonder  of  hunting  and 
fishing  than  of  algebra  and  Greek,  must  have 
caused  his  old  grandfather  a  good  deal  of  worry; 
though,  from  all  I  can  learn,  he  seems  to  have 
been  a  straightforward  and  likable  youngster. 
Very  early  he  set  his  heart  on  entering  the  min 
istry;  but,  owing  to  the  dissuasions  of  his  rela 
tives  and  friends,  who  knew  how  pitifully  meagre 
was  a  clergyman's  living  in  those  days,  he  reluc 
tantly  abandoned  the  idea  and  took  up  instead 
the  study  of  medicine.  After  practising  in  Can 
ada  for  several  years,  he  returned  to  central  New 
York,  where,  with  but  little  help,  he  chopped  a 
farm  out  of  the  wilderness,  cleared  it,  and  culti 
vated  it,  built  a  grist-mill  and  a  sawmill,  and  at 
the  same  time  acted  as  physician  for  a  district 
fifty  miles  in  radius.  He  was  in  the  heyday  of 
life,  prosperous,  and  engaged  to  the  prettiest  girl 
in  all  the  countryside,  when,  reading  in  the  local 
paper  the  appeal  made  by  the  Indian  chieftains 
in  far-away  St.  Louis,  the  old  crusading  fervor 
that  had  first  turned  his  thoughts  toward  the 
ministry,  flamed  up  clear  and  strong  within  him, 

203 


The  Road  to  Glory 

and,  putting  comfort,  prosperity,  everything  be 
hind  him,  he  applied  to  the  American  Board  for 
appointment  as  a  missionary  to  Oregon.  Such 
a  request  from  a  man  so  peculiarly  qualified  for 
a  wilderness  career  as  Whitman  could  not  well 
be  disregarded,  and  in  due  time  he  received  an 
appointment  to  go  to  the  banks  of  the  Columbia, 
investigate,  return,  and  report.  The  wish  of  his 
life  had  been  granted:  he  had  become  a  skirmisher 
in  the  army  of  the  church. 

Accompanied  by  a  fellow  missionary,  Whitman 
penetrated  into  the  Western  wilderness  as  far  as 
the  Wind  River  Mountains,  near  the  present  Yel 
lowstone  Park.  After  familiarizing  themselves 
through  talks  with  traders,  trappers,  and  Indians 
with  the  conditions  which  prevailed  in  the  valley 
of  the  Columbia,  Whitman  and  his  companion 
returned  to  Boston,  and  upon  the  strength  of 
their  report  the  American  Board  decided  to  lose 
no  time  in  occupying  the  field.  Ordered  to  es 
tablish  a  station  on  the  Columbia,  in  the  vicinity 
of  Fort  Walla  Walla,  then  a  post  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  Whitman  turned  the  long  and 
arduous  trip  across  the  continent  into  a  wedding 
journey.  The  conveyances  used  and  the  round 
about  route  taken  by  the  bridal  couple  strikingly 
emphasize  the  primitive  internal  communica- 

204 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

tions  of  the  period.  They  drove  in  a  sleigh  from 
Elmira,  N.  Y.,  to  Hollidaysburg,  a  hamlet  on  the 
Pennsylvania  Canal,  at  the  foot  of  the  Allegha- 
nies,  the  canal-boats,  which  were  built  in  sections, 
being  taken  over  the  mountains  on  a  railway. 
Travelling  by  the  canal  and  its  communicating 
waterways  to  the  Ohio,  they  journeyed  by  steam 
boat  down  the  Ohio  to  its  junction  with  the  Mis 
sissippi,  up  the  Mississippi  to  St.  Louis,  and 
thence  up  the  Missouri  to  Council  Bluffs,  where 
they  bought  a  wagon  (bear  that  wagon  in  mind, 
if  you  please,  for  you  shall  hear  of  it  later  on), 
and  outfitted  for  the  journey  across  the  plains. 
Accompanied  by  another  missionary  couple,  Doc 
tor  and  Mrs.  Spalding,  they  turned  the  noses  of 
their  mules  northwestward  and  a  week  or  so  later 
caught  up  with  an  expedition  sent  out  by  the 
American  Fur  Company  to  its  settlement  of  As 
toria,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia.  Following 
the  North  Fork  of  the  Platte,  they  crossed  the 
Wind  River  Mountains  within  sight  of  the  land 
mark  which  came  in  time  to  be  known  as  Fre 
mont's  Peak,  though  these  two  young  women 
crossed  the  Great  Divide  six  years  before  Fremont, 
"the  pathfinder,"  ever  set  eyes  upon  it.  Few 
women  of  our  race  have  ever  made  so  perilous 
or  difficult  a  journey.  Before  it  was  half  com- 

205 


The  Road  to  Glory 

pleted,  the  party,  owing  to  a  miscalculation,  ran 
out  of  hflour  and  for  weeks  on  end  were  forced 
to  live  on  jerked  buffalo  meat  and  tea.  Crossing 
the  Snake  River  at  a  point  where  it  was  upward 
of  a  mile  in  width,  the  wagon  was  capsized  by 
the  velocity  of  the  current,  and,  the  mules,  on 
which  the  women  had  been  put  for  safety,  be 
coming  entangled  in  the  harness,  their  riders 
escaped  drowning  by  what  the  missionaries  de 
voutly  ascribed  to  a  miracle  and  the  rough- 
spoken  frontiersmen  to  "damned  good  luck." 
Another  river  they  crossed  by  means  of  a  dried 
elkskin  with  two  ropes  attached,  on  which  they 
lay  flat  and  perfectly  motionless  while  two  In 
dian  women,  holding  the  ropes  in  their  teeth, 
swam  the  stream,  drawing  this  unstable  ferry 
behind  them. 

At  Fort  Hall,  near  the  present  site  of  Poca- 
tello,  Ida.,  they  came  upon  the  southernmost  of 
that  chain  of  trading-posts  with  which  the  Hud 
son's  Bay  Company  sought  to  guard  the  enormous 
territory  which,  without  so  much  as  a  "by-your- 
leave,"  it  had  taken  for  its  own.  Here  Captain 
Grant,  the  company's  factor,  made  a  determined 
effort  to  induce  Whitman  to  abandon  the  wagon 
that  he  had  brought  with  him  across  the  conti 
nent  in  the  face  of  almost  insuperable  obstacles. 

206 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

But  the  obstinacy  that  had  caused  the  folks  in 
Plainfield  to  shake  their  heads  when  the  name 
of  young  Marcus  Whitman  was  mentioned  stood 
him  in  good  stead,  for  the  more  persistent  the 
Englishman  became  in  his  objections  the  more 
adamantine  grew  the  American  in  his  determi 
nation  to  cling  at  all  costs  to  his  wagon,  for  no 
one  Fknew  better  than  Whitman  that  this  had 
proved  the  most  successful  of  the  methods  pur 
sued  by  the  great  British  fur  monopoly  to  dis 
courage  the  colonization  of  the  territory  wherein 
it  conducted  its  operations.  The  officials  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  well  knew  that  the  colo 
nization  of  the  valley  of  the  Columbia  by  Ameri 
cans  meant  not  only  the  end  of  their  enormously 
profitable  monopoly  but/tne  end  of  British  domi 
nation  in  that  region.  Though  they  did  not  have 
it  in  their  power  to  forcibly  prevent  Americans 
from  entering  the  country,  they  argued  that  there 
could  be  no  colonization  on  a  large  scale  unless 
the  settlers  had  wagons  in  which  to  transport  their 
seeds  and  farming  implements.  Hence  the  com 
pany  adopted  the  policy  of  stationing  its  agents 
along  the  main  routes  of  travel  with  instructions 
to  stop  at  nothing  short  of  force  to  detain  the 
wagons.  And  until  Marcus  Whitman  came  this 
policy  had  accomplished  the  desired  result,  the 

207 


The  Road  to  Glory 

specious  arguments  of  Captain  Grant  having 
proved  so  successful,  indeed,  that  the  stockade  at 
Fort  Hall  was  filled  with  abandoned  wagons  and 
farming  implements  which  would  have  been  of 
inestimable  value  to  the  settlers  who  had  been 
persuaded  or  bullied  into  leaving  them  behind. 
But  Whitman  was  made  of  different  stuff,  and 
the  English  official  might  as  well  have  tried  to 
argue  the  Snake  River  out  of  its  course  as  to 
argue  this  hard-headed  Yankee  into  giving  up  his 
wagon.  Though  it  twice  capsized  and  was  all 
but  lost  in  the  swollen  streams,  though  once  it 
fell  over  a  precipice  and  more  than  once  went 
rolling  down  a  mountainside,  though  for  miles  on 
end  it  was  held  on  the  narrow,  winding  mountain 
trails  by  means  of  drag-ropes,  and  though  it  be 
came  so  dilapidated  in  time  that  it  finished  its 
journey  on  two  wheels  instead  of  four,  the  ram 
shackle  old  vehicle,  thanks  to  Whitman's  bull 
dog  grit  and  determination,  was  hauled  over  the 
mountains  and  was  the  first  vehicle  to  enter  the 
forbidden  land.  I  have  laid  stress  upon  this  inci 
dent  of  the  wagon,  because,  as  things  turned  out, 
it  proved  a  vital  factor  in  the  winning  of  Oregon. 
"For  want  of  a  nail  the  shoe  was  lost,"  runs  the 
ancient  doggerel;  "for  want  of  a  .shoe  the  horse 
was  lost;  for  want  of  a  horse  the  rider  was  lost; 

208 


The  Preacher  Wlio  Rode 

for  want  of  a  rider  the  kingdom  was  lost."  And, 
had  it  not*  been  for  this  decrepit  old  wagon  of 
Whitman's,  a  quarter  of  a  r^illion  square  miles  of 
the  most  fertile  land  between  the  oceans  would 
have  been  lost  to  the'Unioji. 

Seven  months  after  helping  his  bride  into  the 
sleigh  at  Elmira,  Whitman  drove  his  gaunt  mule- 
team  into  the  gate  of  the  stockade  at  Fort  Walla 
Walla.  To-day  one  can  make  that  same  journey 
in  a  little  more  than  four  days  and  sit  in  a  green 
plush  chair  all  the  way.  The  news  of  Whitman's 
coming  had  preceded  him,  and  an  enormous  con 
course  of  Indians,  arrayed  in  all  their  barbaric 
finery,  was  assembled  to  greet  the  man  who  had 
journeyed  so  many  moons  to  bring  them  the 
white  man's  Book  of  Heaven.  Picture  that  quar 
tet  of  missionaries — skirmishers  of  the  church, 
pickets  of  progress,  advance-guards  of  civilization 
— as  they  stood  on  the  banks  of  the  Columbia 
one  September  morning  in  1836  and  consulted  as 
to  how  to  begin  the  work  they  had  been  sent  to 
do.  It  was  all  new.  There  were  no  precedents 
to  guide  them.  How  would  you  begin,  my  friends, 
were  you  suddenly  set  down  in  the  middle  of  a 
wilderness,  four  thousand  miles  from  home,  with 
instructions  to.  Christianize  and  civilize  the  sav 
ages  who  inhabited  it  ? 

209 


The  Road  to  Glory 

Whitman,  in  whom  diplomacy  lost  an  adept 
when  he  became  a  missionary,  appreciated  that 
the  first  thing  for  him  to  do,  if  he  was  to  be  suc 
cessful  in  his  mission,  was  to  win  the  confidence 
of  the  ruling  powers  of  Oregon — the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  officials  at  Fort  Vancouver.  This  ne 
cessitated  another  journey  of  three  hundred  miles, 
but  it  could  be  made  in  canoes  with  Indian  pad- 
dlers.  Doctor  McLoughlin,  the  stern  old  Scotch 
man  who  was  chief  factor  of  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  and  whose  word  was  law  throughout 
a  region  larger  than  all  the  States  east  of  the 
Mississippi  put  together,  had  to  be  able,  from 
the  very  nature  of  his  business,  to  read  the  char 
acters  of  men  as  students  read  a  book;  and  he 
was  evidently  pleased  with  what  he  read  in  the 
face  of  the  American  missionary,  for  he  gave  both 
permission  and  assistance  in  establishing  a  mis 
sion  station  at  Waiilatpui,  twenty-five  miles  from 
Walla  Walla. 

Whitman's  first  move  in  his  campaign  for  the 
civilization  of  the  Indians  was  to  induce  them 
to  build  permanent  homes  and  to  plough  and  sow. 
This  the  Hudson's  Bay  officials  had  always  dis 
couraged.  They  did  not  want  their  savage  allies 
to  be  transformed  into  tillers  of  the  soil;  they 
wanted  them  to  remain  nomads  and  hunters, 

210 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

ready  to  move  hundreds  of  miles  in  quest  of 
furs.  The  only  parallel  in  modern  times  to  the 
greed,  selfishness,  and  cruelty  which  characterized 
the  administration  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com 
pany  was  the  rule  of  the  Portuguese  in  Mozam 
bique  and  Angola  and  of  King  Leopold  in  the 
Congo. 

At  this  time  Oregon  was  a  sort  of  no  man's 
land,  to  which  neither  England  nor  the  United 
States  had  laid  definite  claim,  though  the  former, 
realizing  the  immensity  of  its  natural  resources 
and  the  enormous  strategic  value  that  would  ac 
crue  from  its  possession,  had  long  cast  covetous 
eyes  upon  it.  The  Americans  of  that  period,  on 
the  contrary,  knew  little  about  Oregon  and  cared 
less,  regarding  the  proposals  for  its  acquisition 
with  the  same  distrust  with  which  the  Americans 
of  to-day  regard  any  suggestion  for  extending 
our  boundaries  below  the  Rio  Grande.  Daniel 
Webster  had  said  on  the  floor  of  the  United 
States  Senate:  "What  do  we  want  with  this 
vast,  worthless  area,  this  region  of  savages  and 
wild  beasts,  of  shifting  sands  and  whirlwinds  of 
dust,  of  cactus  and  prairie-dogs  ?  To  what  use 
could  we  ever  hope  to  put  these  great  deserts  or 
these  endless  mountain  ranges,  impenetrable  and 
covered  to  their  base  with  eternal  snow  ?  What 

211 


The  Road  to  Glory 

can  we  ever  hope  to  do  with  the  western  coast,  a 
coast  of  three  thousand  miles,  rock-bound,  cheer 
less,  and  uninviting,  and  not  a  harbor  on  it  ?  Mr. 
President,  I  will  never  vote  one  cent  from  the 
public  treasury  to  place  the  Pacific  coast  one  inch 
nearer  to  Boston." 

The  name  Oregon,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind, 
had  a  very  much  broader  significance  then  than 
now,  for  the  territory  generally  considered  to  be 
referred  to  by  the  term  comprised  the  whole  of 
the  present  States  of  Oregon,  Washington,  and 
Idaho,  and  a  portion  of  Montana. 

Notwithstanding  the  systematic  efforts  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  to  keep  them  out,  a  con 
siderable  number  of  Americans — perhaps  two  or 
three  hundred  in  all —  had  settled  in  the  country 
watered  by  the  Columbia,  but  they  were  greatly 
outnumbered  by  the  Canadians  and  British,  who 
held  the  balance  of  power.  The  American  set 
tlers  believed  that,  under  the  terms  of  the  treaty 
of  1819,  whichever  nation  settled  and  organized 
the  territory  that  nation  would  hold  it.  Though 
this  was  not  directly  affirmed  in  the  terms  of 
that  treaty,  it  was  the  common  sentiment  of  the 
statesmen  of  the  period,  Webster,  then  Secretary 
of  State,  having  said,  in  the  course  of  a  letter  to 
the  British  minister  at  Washington:  "The  owner- 

212 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

ship  of  the  whole  country  (Oregon)  will  likely 
follow  the  greater  settlement  and  larger  amount 
of  population."  The  missionaries,  recognizing  the 
incalculable  value  of  the  country  which  the  Amer 
ican  Government  was  deliberately  throwing  away, 
did  everything  in  their  power  to  encourage  immi 
gration.  Their  glowing  accounts  of  the  fertility 
of  the  soil,  the  balmy  climate,  the  wealth  of  tim 
ber,  the  incalculable  water-power,  the  wealth  in 
minerals  had  each  year  induced  a  limited  num 
ber  of  daring  souls  to  make  the  perilous  and  costly 
journey  across  the  plains.  In  the  autumn  of  1842 
a  much  larger  party  than  any  that  had  hitherto 
attempted  the  journey — one  hundred  and  twenty 
in  all — reached  Waiilatpui.  Among  them  was  a 
highly  educated  and  unusually  well-informed 
man — General  Amos  Lovejoy.  He  was  thor 
oughly  posted  in  national  affairs,  and  it  was  in 
the  course  of  a  conversation  with  him  that  Doc 
tor  Whitman  first  learned  that  the  Webster-Ash- 
burton  treaty  would  probably  be  ratified  before 
the  adjournment  of  Congress  in  the  following 
March.  It  was  generally  believed  that  this  treaty 
related  to  the  entire  boundary  between  the  United 
States  and  England's  North  American  possessions, 
the  popular  supposition  being  that  it  provided  for 
the  cession  of  the  Oregon  region  to  Great  Britain 

213 


The  Road  to  Glory 

in  return  for  fishing  rights  off  the  coast  of  New 
foundland. 

Doctor  Whitman  instantly  saw  that,  as  a  re 
sult  of  the  incredible  ignorance  and  short-sighted 
ness  of  the  statesmen — or  rather,  the  politicians 
who  paraded  as  statesmen — at  Washington,  four 
great  States  were  quietly  slipping  away  from  us 
without  a  protest.  There  was  but  one  thing  to 
do  in  such  a  crisis.  He  must  set  out  for  Wash 
ington.  Though  four  thousand  miles  of  Indian- 
haunted  wilderness  lay  between  -him  and  the  white 
city  on  the  Potomac,  he  did  not  hesitate.  Though 
winter  was  at  hand,  and  the  passes  would  be  deep 
in  snow  and  the  plains  destitute  of  pasturage,  he 
did  not  falter.  Though  there  was  a  rule  of  the 
American  Board  that  no  missionary  could  leave 
his  post  without  obtaining  permission  from  head 
quarters  in  Boston,  Whitman  shouldered  all  the 
responsibility.  "I  did  not  expatriate  myself  when 
I  became  a  missionary,"  was  his  reply  to  some 
objection.  "Even  if  the  Board  dismisses  me,  I 
will  do  what  I  can  to  save  Oregon  to  the  nation. 
My  life  is  of  but  little  worth  if  I  can  keep  this 
country  for  the  American  people."  * 

*  It  is  a  regrettable  fact  that  this,  one  of  the  finest  episodes  in  our 
national  history,  from  being  a  subject  of  honest  controversy  has 
degenerated  into  an  embittered  and  rancorous  quarrel,  some  of  Doctor 
Whitman's  detractors,  not  content  with  questioning  the  motives 

214 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

Whitman's  friends  in  Oregon  felt  that  he  was 
starting  on  a  ride  into  the  valley  of  the  shadow 
of  death.  They  knew  from  their  own  experiences 
the  terrible  hardships  of  such  a  journey  even  in 
summer,  when  there  was  grass  to  feed  the  horses 
and  men  could  live  with  comfort  in  the  open  air. 
It  was  resolved  that  he  must  not  make  the  jour 
ney  alone,  and  a  call  was  made  for  a  volunteer  to 
accompany  him.  General  Amos  Lovejoy  stepped 
forward  and  said  quietly:  "I  will  go  with  Doctor 
Whitman."  The  doctor  planned  to  start  in  five 
days,  but,  while  dining  with  the  Hudson's  Bay  of 
ficials  at  Fort  Walla  Walla,  an  express  messenger 
of  the  company  arrived  from  Fort  Colville,  three 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  up  the  Columbia,  and 
electrified  his  audience  by  announcing  that  a  party 
of  one  hundred  and  forty  British  and  Canadian 
colonists  were  on  the  road  to  Oregon.  A  young 
English  clergyman,  carried  away  with  enthusiasm, 
sprang  to  his  feet,  waved  his  napkin  above  his 
head  and  shouted:  "We've  got  the  country — the 

which  animated  him  in  his  historic  ride,  having  gone  so  far  as  to 
cast  doubts  on  the  fact  of  the  ride  itself  and  even  to  assail  the  char 
acter  of  the  great  missionary.  Full  substantiation  of  the  episode  as 
I  have  told  it  may  be  found,  however,  in  Barrows' s  "Oregon,  the 
Struggle  for  Possession,"  Johnson's  "History  of  Oregon,"  Dye's 
"McLoughlin  and  Old  Oregon,"  and  Nixon's  "How  Marcus  Whit 
man  Saved  Oregon,"  an  array  of  authorities  which  seem  to  me 
sufficient. 

215 


The  Road  to  Glory 

Yankees  are  too  late!  Hurrah  for  Oregon!" 
Whitman,  appreciating  that  things  had  now 
reached  a  pass  where  even  hours  were  precious, 
quietly  excused  himself,  hurried  back  to  the  mis 
sion  at  Waiilatpui,  and  made  preparations  for  an 
immediate  departure.  The  strictest  secrecy  was 
enjoined  upon  all  the  Americans  whom  Whitman 
had  taken  into  his  confidence,  for  had  a  rumor  of 
his  intentions  reached  British  ears  at  this  junc 
ture  it  might  have  ruined  everything.  So  it  was 
given  out  that  he  was  returning  to  Boston  to  ad 
vise  the  American  Board  against  the  contem 
plated  removal  of  its  missions  in  Oregon — an  ex 
planation  which  was  true  as  far  as  it  went. 

On  the  morning  of  October  3,  1842,  Whitman, 
saying  good-by  to  his  wife  and  home,  climbed 
into  his  saddle  and  with  General  Lovejoy,  their 
half-breed  guide,  and  three  pack-mules  set  out 
on  the  ride  that  was  to  win  us  an  empire.  The 
little  group  of  American  missionaries  and  settlers 
whom  he  left  behind  gave  him  a  rousing  cheer  as 
he  rode  off  and  then  stood  in  silence  with  choking 
throats  and  misted  eyes  until  the  heroic  doctor 
and  his  companions  were  swallowed  by  the  forest. 

With  horses  fresh,  they  reached  Fort  Hall  in 
eleven  days,  where  the  English  factor,  Captain 
Grant — the  same  man  who,  six  years  before,  had 

216 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

attempted  to  prevent  Whitman  from  taking  his 
wagon  into  Oregon — doubtless  guessing  at  their 
mission,  did  his  best  to  detain  them.  Learning 
at  Fort  Hall  that  the  northern  tribes  were  on  the 
war-path,  Whitman  and  his  companions  struck 
southward  in  the  direction  of  Great  Salt  Lake, 
planning  to  work  from  there  eastward,  via  Fort 
Uintah  and  Fort  Uncompahgre,  to  Santa  Fe,  and 
thence  by  the  Santa  Fe  trail  to  St.  Louis,  which 
was  on  the  borders  of  civilization.  The  journey 
from  Fort  Hall  to  Fort  Uintah  was  one  long 
nightmare,  the  temperature  falling  at  times  to 
forty  degrees  below  zero  and  the  snow  being  so 
deep  in  places  that  the  horses  could  scarcely 
struggle  through.  While  crossing  the  mountains 
on  their  way  to  Taos  they  were  caught  in  a 
blinding  snow-storm,  in  which,  with  badly  frozen 
limbs,  they  wandered  aimlessly  for  hours.  Fi 
nally,  upon  the  guide  admitting  that  he  was  lost 
and  could  go  no  farther,  they  sought  refuge  in  a 
deep  ravine.  Whitman  dismounted  and,  kneel 
ing  in  the  snow,  prayed  for  guidance.  Can't  you 
picture  the  scene:  the  lonely,  rock-walled  gorge; 
the  shivering  animals  standing  dejectedly,  heads 
to  the  ground  and  reins  trailing;  the  general, 
muffled  to  the  eyes  in  furs;  the  impassive,  blank 
eted  half-breed;  in  the  centre,  upon  his  knees,  the 

217 


The  Road  to  Glory 

indomitable  missionary,  praying  to  the  God  of 
storms;  and  the  snowflakes  falling  swiftly,  silently, 
upon  everything  ?  As  though  in  answer  to  the 
doctor's  prayers — and  who  shall  say  that  it  was 
not — the  lead-mule,  which  had  been  left  to  him 
self,  suddenly  started  plunging  through  the  snow 
drifts  as  though  on  an  urgent  errand.  Where 
upon  the  guide  called  out:  "This  old  mule'll  find 
the  way  back  to  camp  if  he  kin  live  long  'nough 
to  git  there."  And  he  did. 

The  next  morning  the  guide  said  flatly  that  he 
would  go  no  farther. 

"I  know  this  country,"  he  declared,  "an*  I 
know  when  things  is  possible  an'  when  they  ain't. 
It  ain't  possible  to  git  through,  an'  it's  plumb 
throwin'  your  lives  away  to  try  it.  I'm  finished." 

This  was  a  solar-plexus  blow  for  Whitman,  for 
he  was  already  ten  days  behind  his  schedule. 
But,  though  staggered,  he  was  far  from  being 
beaten.  Telling  Lovejoy  to  remain  in  camp  and 
recuperate  the  animals — which  he  did  by  feeding 
them  on  brush  and  the  inner  bark  of  willows, 
for  there  was  no  other  fodder — Whitman  turned 
back  to  Fort  Uncompahgre,  where  he  succeeded 
in  obtaining  a  stouter-hearted  guide.  In  a  week 
he  had  rejoined  Lovejoy.  The  storm  had  ceased, 
and  with  rested  animals  they  made  good  progress 

218 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

over  the  mountains  to  the  pyramid  pueblo  of 
Taos,  the  home  of  Kit  Carson.  Tarrying  there 
but  a  few  hours,  worn  and  weary  though  they 
were,  they  pressed  on  to  the  banks  of  the  Red 
River,  a  stream  which  is  dangerous  even  in  sum 
mer,  only  to  find  a  fringe  of  solid  ice  upon  each 
shore,  with  a  rushing  torrent,  two  hundred  feet 
wide,  between.  For  some  minutes  the  guide 
studied  it  in  silence.  "It  is  too  dangerous  to 
cross,"  he  said  at  last  decisively. 

"Dangerous  or  not,  we  must  cross  it,  and  at 
once,"  answered  Whitman.  Cutting  a  stout  wil 
low  pole,  eight  feet  or  so  in  length,  he  put  it  on 
his  shoulder  and  remounted. 

"Now,  boys,"  he  ordered,  "shove  me  off." 
Following  the  doctor's  directions,  Lovejoy  and 
the  guide  urged  the  trembling  beast  onto  the 
slippery  ice  and  then  gave  him  a  sudden  shove 
which  sent  him,  much  against  his  will,  into  the 
freezing  water.  Both  horse  and  rider  remained 
for  a  moment  out  of  sight,  then  rose  to  the  sur 
face  well  toward  the  middle  of  the  stream,  the 
horse  swimming  desperately.  As  they  reached 
the  opposite  bank  the  doctor's  ingenuity  in  pro 
viding  himself  with  the  pole  quickly  became  ap 
parent,  for  with  it  he  broke  the  fringe  of  ice  and 
thus  enabled  his  exhausted  horse  to  gain  a  foot- 

219 


The  Road  to  Glory 

ing  and  scramble  ashore.  Wood  was  plentiful, 
and  he  soon  had  a  roaring  fire.  In  a  wild  coun 
try,  when  the  lead-animal  has  gone  ahead  the 
others  will  always  follow,  so  the  general  and  the 
guide  had  no  great  difficulty  in  inducing  their 
horses  and  pack-mules  to  make  the  passage  of  the 
river,  rejoining  Whitman  upon  the  opposite  bank. 
Despite  the  fact  that  they  found  plenty  of 
wood  along  the  route  that  they  had  taken,  which 
was  fully  a  thousand  miles  longer  than  the  north 
ern  course  would  have  been,  all  the  party  were 
severely  frozen,  Whitman  suffering  excruciating 
pain  from  his  frozen  ears,  hands,  and  feet.  The 
many  delays  had  not  only  caused  the  loss  of 
precious  time,  but  they  had  completely  exhausted 
their  provisions.  A  dog  had  accompanied  the 
party,  and  they  ate  him.  A  mule  came  next,  and 
that  kept  them  until  they  reached  Santa  Fe, 
where  there  was  plenty.  Santa  Fe — that  oldest 
city  of  European  occupation  on  the  continent — 
welcomed  and  fed  them.  From  there  over  the 
famous  Santa  Fe  trail  to  Bent's  Fort,  a  fortified 
settlement  on  the  Arkansas,  was  a  long  journey 
but,  compared  with  what  they  had  already  gone 
through,  an  easy  one.  A  long  day's  ride  north 
eastward  from  this  lonely  outpost  of  American 
civilization,  and  they  found  across  their  path  a 

220 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

tributary  of  the  Arkansas.  On  the  opposite  shore 
was  wood  in  plenty.  On  their  side  there  was 
none,  and  the  river  was  frozen  over  with  smooth, 
clear  ice,  scarce  strong  enough  to  hold  a  man. 
They  must  have  wood  or  they  would  perish  from 
the  cold;  so  Whitman,  taking  the  axe,  lay  flat 
upon  the  ice  and  snaked  himself  across,  cut  a 
sufficient  supply  of  fuel  and  returned  the  way  he 
went,  pushing  it  before  him.  While  he  was  cut 
ting  it,  however,  an  unfortunate  incident  occurred: 
the  axe-helve  was  splintered.  This  made  no  par 
ticular  difference  at  the  moment,  for  the  doc 
tor  wound  the  break  in  the  handle  with  a  thong 
of  buckskin.  But  as  they  were  in  camp  that 
night  a  famished  wolf,  attracted  by  the  smell  of 
the  fresh  buckskin,  carried  off  axe  and  all,  and 
they  could  find  no  trace  of  it.  Had  it  happened 
a  few  hundred  miles  back  it  would  have  meant 
the  failure  of  the  expedition,  if  not  the  death  of 
Whitman  and  his  companions.  On  such  appar 
ently  insignificant  trifles  do  the  fate  of  nations 
sometimes  hang. 

Crossing  the  plains  of  what  are  now  the  States 
of  Oklahoma  and  Kansas,  great  packs  of  gaunt, 
gray  timber-wolves  surrounded  their  tent  each 
night  and  were  kept  at  bay  only  at  the  price  of 
unceasing  vigilance,  one  member  of  the  party  al- 

221 


The  Road  to  Glory 

ways  remaining  on  guard  with  a  loaded  rifle. 
The  moment  a  wolf  was  shot  its  famished  com 
panions  would  pounce  upon  it  and  tear  it  to 
pieces.  From  Bent's  Fort  to  St.  Louis  was, 
strangely  enough,  one  of  the  most  dangerous  por 
tions  of  the  journey,  for,  while  heretofore  the  chief 
dangers  had  come  from  cold,  starvation,  and  sav 
age  beasts,  here  they  were  in  hourly  danger  from 
still  more  savage  men,  for  in  those  days  the  Santa 
Fe  trail  was  frequented  by  bandits,  horse-thieves, 
renegade  Indians,  fugitives  from  justice,  and  the 
other  desperate  characters  who  haunted  the  out 
skirts  of  civilization  and  preyed  upon  the  unpro 
tected  traveller.  Notwithstanding  these  dangers, 
of  which  he  had  been  repeatedly  warned  at  Santa 
Fe  and  Bent's  Fort,  the  doctor,  leaving  Lovejoy 
and  the  guide  to  follow  him  with  the  pack-animals, 
pushed  on  through  this  perilous  region  alone,  but 
lost  his  way  and  spent  two  precious  days  in  find 
ing  it  again — a  punishment,  he  said  for  having 
travelled  on  the  Sabbath. 

The  only  occasion  throughout  all  his  astound 
ing  journey  when  this  man  of  iron  threatened  to 
collapse  was  when,  upon  reaching  St.  Louis,  in 
February,  1843,  he  learned,  in  answer  to  his  eager 
inquiries,  that  the  Ashburton  treaty  had  been 
signed  on  August  9,  long  before  he  left  Oregon, 

222 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

and  that  it  had  been  ratified  by  the  Senate  on 
November  10,  while  he  was  floundering  in  the 
mountain  snows  near  Fort  Uncompahgre.  For  a 
moment  the  missionary's  mahogany-tanned  face 
went  white  and  his  legs  threatened  to  give  way 
beneath  him.  Could  it  be  that  this  was  the  end 
of  his  dream  of  national  expansion  ?  Was  it  pos 
sible  that  his  heroic  ride  had  been  made  for 
naught  ?  But  summoning  up  his  courage  he  man 
aged  to  ask:  "Is  the  question  of  the  Oregon 
boundary  still  open  ?"  When  he  learned  that  the 
treaty  had  only  settled  the  question  of  a  few 
square  miles  in  Maine,  and  that  the  matter  of 
the  northwest  boundary  was  still  pending,  the 
revulsion  was  so  great  that  he  reeled  and  nearly 
fell.  God  be  praised !  There  was  still  time  for 
him  to  get  to  Washington  !  The  river  was  frozen 
and  he  had  to  depend  upon  the  stage,  and  an 
overland  journey  from  St.  Louis  to  Washington 
in  midwinter  was  no  light  matter.  But  to  Whit 
man  with  muscles  like  steel  springs,  a  thousand 
miles  by  stage-coach  over  atrocious  roads  was  not 
an  obstacle  worthy  of  discussion. 

He  arrived  at  Washington  on  the  3d  of  March — 
just  five  months  from  the  Columbia  to  the  Po 
tomac — in  the  same  rough  garments  he  had  worn 
upon  his  ride,  for  he  had  neither  time  nor  oppor- 

223 


The  Road  to  Glory 

tunity  to  get  others.  Soiled  and  greasy  buck 
skin  breeches,  sheepskin  chaparejos,  fleece  side 
out,  boot-moccasins  of  elkskin,  a  cap  of  raccoon 
fur  with  the  tail  hanging  down  behind,  frontier 
fashion,  and  a  buffalo  greatcoat  with  a  hood  for 
stormy  weather,  composed  a  costume  that  did  not 
show  one  inch  of  woven  fabric.  His  face,  storm- 
tanned  to  the  color  of  a  much-smoked  meerschaum, 
carried  all  the  iron-gray  whiskers  that  five  months' 
absence  from  a  razor  could  put  upon  it.  I  doubt, 
indeed,  if  the  shop-windows  of  the  national  capi 
tal  have  ever  reflected  a  more  picturesque  or  strik 
ing  figure.  But  he  had  no  time  to  take  note  of 
the  sensation  created  in  the  streets  of  Washing 
ton  by  his  appearance.  Would  he  be  granted 
an  audience  with  the  President?  Would  he  be 
believed?  Would  his  mission  prove  success 
ful  ?  Those  were  the  questions  that  tormented 
him. 

Those  were  days  when  the  chief  executive  of 
the  nation  was  hedged  by  less  formality  than  he 
is  in  these  busier  times,  and  President  Tyler 
promptly  received  him.  Some  day,  perhaps,  the 
people  of  one  of  those  great  States  which  he 
saved  to  the  Union  will  commission  a  famous  ar 
tist  to  paint  a  picture  of  that  historic  meeting: 
the  President,  his  keen,  attentive  face  framed  by 

224 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

the  flaring  collar  and  high  black  stock  of  the 
period,  sitting  low  in  his  great  armchair;  the 
great  Secretary  of  State,  his  mane  brushed  back 
from  his  tremendous  forehead,  seated  beside  him; 
and,  standing  before  them,  the  preacher-pioneer, 
bearded  to  the  eyes,  with  frozen  limbs,  in  his 
worn  and  torn  garments  of  fur  and  leather,  plead 
ing  for  Oregon.  The  burden  of  his  argument  was 
that  the  treaty  of  1819  must  be  immediately 
abrogated  and  that  the  authority  of  the  United 
States  be  extended  over  the  valley  of  the  Co 
lumbia.  He  painted  in  glowing  words  the  limit 
less  resources,  the  enormous  wealth  in  minerals 
and  timber  and  water-power  of  this  land  beyond 
the  Rockies;  he  told  his  hearers,  spellbound  now 
by  the  interest  and  vividness  of  the  narrative,  of 
the  incredible  fertility  of  the  virgin  soil,  in  which 
anything  would  grow;  of  the  vastness  of  the 
forests;  of  the  countless  leagues  of  navigable 
rivers;  of  the  healthful  and  delightful  climate; 
of  the  splendid  harbors  along  the  coast;  and  last, 
but  by  no  means  least,  of  those  hardy  pioneers 
who  had  gone  forth  to  settle  this  rich  new  region 
at  peril  of  their  lives  and  who,  through  him,  were 
pleading  to  be  placed  under  the  shadow  of  their 
own  flag. 

But  Daniel  Webster  still  clung  obstinately  to 
225 


The  Road  to  Glory 

his  belief  that  Oregon  was  a  wilderness  not  worth 
the  having. 

"It  is  impossible  to  build  a  wagon  road  over 
the  mountains,"  he  asserted  positively.  "My 
friend  Sir  George  Simpson,  the  British  minister, 
has  told  me  so." 

"There  is  a  wagon  road  over  the  mountains,  Mr. 
Secretary,"  retorted  Whitman,  "for  I  have  made  it." 

It  was  the  rattletrap  old  prairie-schooner  that 
the  missionary  had  dragged  into  Oregon  on  two 
wheels  in  the  face  of  British  opposition  that 
clinched  and  copper-riveted  the  business.  It 
knocked  all  the  argument  out  of  the  famous  Sec 
retary,  who,  for  almost  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
found  himself  at  a  loss  for  an  answer.  Here  was 
a  man  of  a  type  quite  different  from  any  that 
Webster  had  encountered  in  all  his  political  ex 
perience.  He  had  no  axe  to  grind;  he  asked  for 
nothing;  he  wanted  no  money,  or  office,  or  lands, 
or  anything  except  that  which  would  add  to  the 
glory  of  the  flag,  the  prosperity  of  the  people, 
the  wealth  of  the  nation.  It  was  a  powerful  ap 
peal  to  the  heart  of  President  Tyler. 

"What  you  have  told  us  has  interested  me 
deeply,  Doctor  Whitman,"  said  the  President  at 
length.  "Now  tell  me  exactly  what  it  is  that 
you  wish  me  to  do." 

226 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

"If  it  is  true,  Mr.  President,"  replied  Whit 
man,  "that,  as  Secretary  Webster  himself  has 
said,  'the  ownership  of  Oregon  is  very  likely  to  fol 
low  the  greater  settlement  and  the  larger  amount 
of  population/  then  all  I  ask  is  that  you  won't 
barter  away  Oregon  or  permit  of  British  inter 
ference  until  I  can  organize  a  company  of  settlers 
and  lead  them  across  the  plains  to  colonize  the 
country.  And  this  I  will  try  to  do  at  once." 

"Your  credentials  as  a  missionary  vouch  for 
your  character,  Doctor  Whitman,"  replied  the 
President.  "Your  extraordinary  ride  and  your 
frostbitten  limbs  vouch  for  your  patriotism.  The 
request  you  make  is  a  reasonable  one.  I  am  glad 
to  grant  it." 

"That  is  all  I  ask,"  said  Whitman,  rising. 

The  object  that  had  started  him  on  his  four- 
thousand-mile  journey  having  been  attained, 
Whitman  wasted  no  time  in  resting.  His  work 
was  still  unfinished.  It  was  up  to  him  to  get  his 
settlers  into  Oregon,  for  the  increasing  arrogance 
of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  confirmed  him  in 
his  belief  that  the  sole  hope  of  saving  the  valley 
of  the  Columbia  lay  in  a  prompt  and  overwhelm 
ing  American  immigration.  He  had,  indeed,  ar 
rived  at  Washington  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  for, 
if  prior  to  his  arrival  the  British  Government 

227 


The  Road  to  Glory 

had  renewed  its  offer  of  compromising  by  taking 
as  the  international  boundary  the  forty-ninth 
parallel  to  the  Columbia  and  thence  down  that 
river  to  the  Pacific — thus  giving  the  greater  part 
of  the  present  State  of  Washington  to  England 
— there  is  but  little  doubt  that  the  offer  would 
have  been  accepted.  But  the  promise  made  by 
President  Tyler  to  Whitman  committed  him 
against  taking  any  action. 

Though  Whitman  was  treated  with  respect  and 
admiration  by  the  President  of  the  United  States, 
the  greeting  he  received  when  he  reported  himself 
at  the  headquarters  of  the  American  Board  in 
Boston  was  far  from  being  a  cordial  one. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  away  from  your 
post  without  permission?"  curtly  inquired  the 
secretary  of  the  Board,  eying  his  shaggy  visitor 
with  evident  disapproval. 

"I  came  on  business  to  Washington,"  answered 
Whitman,  looking  the  secretary  squarely  in  the 
eye.  "There  was  imminent  danger  of  Oregon 
passing  into  the  possession  of  England,  and  I  felt 
it  my  duty  to  do  what  I  could  to  prevent  it." 

"Obtaining  new  territories  for  the  nation  is  no 
part  of  our  business,"  was  the  ungracious  answer. 
"You  would  have  done  better  not  to  have  med 
dled  in  political  affairs.  Here,  take  some  money 

228 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

and  get  some  decent  clothes,  and  then  we'll  dis 
cuss  this  scheme  of  yours  of  piloting  emigrants 
over  the  mountains." 

Meanwhile  General  Lovejoy  had  been  busy 
upon  the  frontier  spreading  the  news  that  early 
in  the  spring  Doctor  Whitman  and  himself  would 
guide  a  body  of  settlers  across  the  Rockies  to 
Oregon.  The  news  spread  up  and  down  the  bor 
der  like  fire  in  dry  grass.  The  start  was  to  be 
made  from  Weston,  not  far  from  where  Kansas 
City  now  stands,  and  soon  the  emigrants  came 
pouring  in — men  who  had  fought  the  Indians  and 
the  wilderness  all  the  way  from  the  Great  Lakes 
to  the  Gulf;  men  who  had  followed  Boone  and 
Bowie  and  Carson  and  Davy  Crockett;  a  hardy, 
sturdy,  tenacious  breed  who  were  quite  ready  to 
fight,  if  need  be,  to  hold  this  northwestern  land 
where  they  had  determined  to  build  their  homes. 
The  grass  was  late,  that  spring  of  1843,  and  the 
expedition  did  not  get  under  way  until  the  last 
week  in  June.  At  Fort  Hall  they  met  with  the 
customary  discouragements  and  threats  from 
Captain  Grant,  but  Whitman,  like  a  modern 
Moses,  urged  them  forward.  On  pushed  the 
winding  train  of  white-topped  wagons,  crossing 
the  sun-baked  prairies,  climbing  the  Rockies, 
fording  the  intervening  rivers,  creeping  along  the 

229 


The  Road  to  Glory 

edge  of  perilous  precipices,  until  at  last  they  stood 
upon  the  summit  of  the  westernmost  range,  with 
the  promised  land  lying  spread  below  them. 
Whitman,  the  man  to  whom  it  was  all  due,  reined 
in  his  horse  and  watched  the  procession  of  wagons, 
bearing  upward  of  a  thousand  men,  women,  and 
children,  make  its  slow  progress  down  the  moun 
tains.  He  must  have  been  very  happy,  for  he 
had  added  the  great,  rich  empire  which  the  term 
Oregon  implied  to  the  Union.* 

For  four  years  more  Doctor  Whitman  continued 
his  work  of  caring  for  the  souls  and  the  bodies  of 
red  men  and  white  alike  at  the  mission  station  of 
Waiilatpui.  On  August  6,  1846,  as  a  direct  result 
of  his  great  ride,  was  signed  the  treaty  whereby 
England  surrendered  her  claims  to  Oregon.  In 
those  days  news  travelled  slowly  along  the  frontier, 
and  it  was  the  following  spring  before  the  British 
outposts  along  the  Columbia  learned  that  the  Brit 
ish  minister  at  Washington  had  been  beaten  by 
the  diplomacy  of  a  Yankee  missionary  and  that 
the  great,  despotic  company  which  for  well-nigh 

*  Years  afterward,  Daniel  Webster  remarked  to  a  friend:  "It  is 
safe  to  assert  that  our  country  owes  it  to  Doctor  Whitman  and  his 
associate  missionaries  that  all  the  territory  west  of  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains  and  north  of  the  Columbia  is  not  now  owned  by  England  and 
held  by  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company." — Dye's  "McLoughlin  and  Old 
Oregon." 

230 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

two  centuries  had  been  in  undisputed  control  of 
this  region,  and  which  had  come  to  regard  it  as 
inalienably  its  own,  would  have  to  move  on. 
From  that  moment  Marcus  Whitman  was  a 
doomed  man,  for  it  was  a  long-standing  boast  of 
the  company  that  no  man  defied  it — and  lived. 
The  end  came  with  dramatic  suddenness. 
Early  in  the  afternoon  of  November  20,  1847, 
Doctor  Whitman  was  sitting  in  the  mission  sta 
tion  prescribing  medicine,  as  was  his  custom,  for 
those  of  his  Indians  who  were  ailing,  when  a 
blanketed  warrior  stole  up  behind  him  on  silent 
moccasins  and  buried  a  hatchet  in  his  brain. 
Then  hell  broke  loose.  Whooping  fiends  in  paint 
and  feathers  appeared  as  from  the  pit.  Mrs. 
Whitman  was  butchered  as  she  knelt  by  her  dying 
husband,  their  scalps  being  torn  from  their  heads 
before  they  had  ceased  to  breathe.  Fourteen 
other  missionaries  were  murdered  by  the  red- 
skinned  monsters  and  forty  women  and  children 
were  carried  into  a  captivity  that  was  worse  than 
death.  And  this  by  the  Indians  who,  just  fifteen 
years  before,  had  pleaded  to  have  sent  them  the 
white  man's  Book  of  Heaven !  Though  no  con 
clusive  proof  has  ever  been  produced  that  they 
were  whooped  on  to  their  atrocious  deed  by  emis 
saries  of  the  great  monopoly  which  had  been 

231 


The  Road  to  Glory 

forced  out  of  Oregon  as  a  result  of  Whitman's 
ride,  there  is  but  little  doubt.  Whitman  had 
snatched  an  empire  from  its  greedy  fingers,  and 
he  had  to  pay  the  price. 

Within  sight  of  the  mission  station,  where  for 
more  than  a  decade  they  had  worked  together, 
and  from  which  he  had  started  on  his  historic 
ride,  the  martyr  and  his  courageous  wife  lie  buried. 
You  can  see  the  grave  for  yourself  should  your 
travels  take  you  Walla  Walla  way.  You  will 
need  to  have  it  pointed  out  to  you,  however,  for 
you  would  never  notice  it  otherwise:  a  modest 
headstone  surrounded  by  a  picket  fence.  Though 
Marcus  Whitman  added  to  the  national  domain 
a  territory  larger  and  possessing  greater  natural 
resources  than  the  German  Empire,  though  but 
for  him  Portland  and  Tacoma  and  Seattle  and 
Spokane  would  be  British  instead  of  American, 
no  memorial  of  him  can  be  found  in  their  parks 
or  public  buildings.  Instead  of  honoring  the  man 
who  discovered  the  streams  and  forests  from  which 
they  are  growing  rich,  who  won  for  them  the  very 
lands  on  which  they  dwell,  unworthy  discussions 
and  acrimonious  debates  as  to  the  motives  which 
animated  him  are  the  only  tributes  which  have 
been  paid  him  by  the  people  for  whom  he  did  so 
much.  But  he  sleeps  peacefully  on  beside  the 

232 


The  Preacher  Who  Rode 

* 

mighty  river,  oblivious  to  the  pettiness  and  in 
gratitude  of  it  all.  When  history  grants  Marcus 
Whitman  the  tardy  justice  of  perspective,  over 
that  lonely  grave  a  monument  worthy  of  a  na 
tion  builder  shall  rise. 


233 


THE  MARCH  OF  THE  ONE  THOUSAND 


THE  MARCH  OF  THE  ONE  THOUSAND 

TWENTY-TWO  centuries  or  thereabouts  ago 
a  Greek  soldier  of  fortune  named  Xenophon 
found  himself  in  a  most  trying  and  perilous  sit 
uation.  Lured  by  avarice,  adventure,  and  ambi 
tion,  he  had  accepted  a  commission  in  a  legion  of 
Hellenic  mercenaries,  ten  thousand  strong,  who 
had  been  engaged  by  Cyrus  to  assist  him  in  oust 
ing  his  brother  from  the  throne  of  Persia.  But 
at  Cunaxa  Cyrus  had  met  his  death  and  his  forces 
complete  disaster,  the  Greek  legionaries  being  left 
to  make  their  way  back  to  Europe  as  best  they 
might.  Under  Xenophon's  daring  and  resource 
ful  leadership  they  set  out  on  that  historic  retreat 
across  the  plains  of  Asia  Minor  which  their  leader 
was  to  make  immortal  with  his  pen,  eventually 
reaching  Constantinople,  after  an  absence  of  fif 
teen  months  and  a  total  journey  of  about  three 
thousand  five  hundred  miles,  with  little  save  their 
weapons  and  their  lives.  Xenophon's  story  of  the 
March  of  the  Ten  Thousand  as  told  in  his  "Anab 
asis,"  is  the  most  famous  military  narrative  ever 
written;  it  is  used  as  a  text-book  in  colleges  and 

237 


The  Road  to  Glory 

schools,  and  is  familiar  wherever  the  history  of 
Greece  is  read. 

Yet  how  many  of  those  who  know  the  "Anab 
asis"  by  heart  are  aware  that  Xenophon's  ex 
ploit  has  been  surpassed  on  our  own  continent, 
in  our  own  times,  and  by  our  own  countrymen  ? 
Where  is  the  text-book  which  contains  so  much 
as  a  reference  to  the  march  of  the  One  Thousand  ? 
How  many  of  the  students  who  can  glibly  rattle 
off  the  details  of  Xenophon's  march  across  the 
Mesopotamian  plains  have  ever  even  heard  of 
Doniphan's  march  across  the  plains  of  Mexico  ? 
During  that  march,  which  occupied  twelve 
months,  a  force  of  American  volunteers,  barely  a 
thousand  strong,  traversed  upward  of  six  thousand 
miles  of  territory,  most  of  which  was  unknown  and 
bitterly  hostile,  and  returned  to  the  United  States 
bringing  with  them  seventeen  pieces  of  artillery 
and  a  hundred  battle-flags  taken  on  fields  whose 
names  their  countrymen  had  never  so  much  as 
heard  before.  Because  it  is  the  most  remarkable 
campaign  in  all  our  history,  and  because  it  is  too 
glorious  an  episode  to  be  lost  in  the  mists  of  ob 
livion,  I  will,  with  your  permission,  tell  its  story. 

Early  in  May,  1846,  Mexico,  angered  by  the 
annexation  of  Texas,  declared  war  against  the 
United  States.  Hostilities  began  a  few  days  later, 

238 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

when  the  Army  of  Occupation  under  General 
Zachary  Taylor,  whom  this  campaign  was  to 
make  President,  crossed  the  Rio  Grande  at  Mata- 
moros  and  defeated  the  Mexicans  in  quick  suc 
cession  at  Palo  Alto  and  Resaca  de  la  Palma. 
The  original  plan  of  campaign  was  for  the  Army 
of  Occupation  to  penetrate  directly  into  the  heart 
of  Mexico  via  Monterey;  the  Army  of  the  Centre, 
under  General  Wool,  to  operate  against  Chihua 
hua,  the  metropolis  of  the  north,  two  hundred  and 
twenty-five  miles  below  the  Rio  Grande;  while 
an  expeditionary  force  under  Colonel  Stephen 
Watts  Kearny,  known  as  the  Army  of  the  West, 
was  ordered  to  march  on  Santa  Fe  for  the  con 
quest  of  New  Mexico.  Subsequently  this  plan 
was  changed:  General  Scott  captured  Vera  Cruz 
and  used  it  as  a  base  for  his  advance  on  the  capi 
tal;  General  Wool,  instead  of  descending  on  Chi 
huahua,  effected  a  juncture  with  General  Taylor 
at  Saltillo;  and  Colonel  Kearny,  after  the  taking 
of  New  Mexico,  divided  his  force  into  three  sepa 
rate  commands.  The  first  he  led  in  person  across 
the  continent  to  the  conquest  of  California;  the 
second,  under  Colonel  Sterling  Price,  was  left  to 
garrison  Santa  Fe  and  hold  New  Mexico;  the 
third,  consisting  of  a  thousand  Missouri  volun 
teers  under  Colonel  Alexander  Doniphan,  was  or- 

239 


The  Road  to  Glory 

dered  to  make  a  descent  upon  the  state  of  Chihua 
hua  and  join  General  Wool's  division  at  Chihuahua 
City.  The  march  of  this  regiment  of  raw  recruits 
from  Fort  Leavenworth  to  Santa  Fe,  El  Paso, 
Chihuahua,  Saltillo,  and  Matamoros  is  known  as 
Doniphan's  Expedition. 

When,  echoing  Mexico's  declaration  of  war, 
came  President  Polk's  call  for  fifty  thousand  vol 
unteers,  Governor  Edwards,  of  Missouri,  turned 
to  Colonel  Doniphan  for  assistance  in  raising  the 
quota  of  that  State.  He  could  not  have  chosen 
better,  for  Alexander  Doniphan  combined  prac 
tical  military  experience  and  remarkable  execu 
tive  ability  with  the  most  extraordinary  personal 
magnetism.  Though  a  citizen  of  Missouri,  Doni 
phan  was  a  native  of  Kentucky,  his  father,  who  was 
a  comrade  of  Daniel  Boone,  having  pushed  west 
ward  with  that  great  adventurer  to  "the  dark 
and  bloody  ground,"  where,  in  1808,  Alexander 
was  born.  Left  fatherless  at  the  age  of  six,  he  was 
sent  to  live  with  his  elder  brother  at  Augusta, 
Ky.,  where  he  received  the  best  education  that 
the  frontier  afforded.  Graduating  from  the  Meth 
odist  college  in  Augusta  when  nineteen,  he  took 
up  the  study  of  law  and  in  1833  moved  to  Liberty, 
Mo.,  where  his  pronounced  abilities  quickly 
brought  him  reputation  and  a  large  and  profitable 

240 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

clientele.  A  born  organizer,  he  took  a  prominent 
part  in  building  up  the  State  militia,  commanding 
a  brigade  of  the  expeditionary  force  which  was 
despatched  in  1838  to  quell  the  insurrectionary 
movement  among  the  Mormons  at  Far  West.  A 
polished  and  convincing  orator,  he  met  with  in 
stant  success  when  he  set  out  through  upper 
Missouri  to  raise  recruits  for  service  in  Mexico. 
The  force  thus  raised  was  designated  as  the  1st 
Missouri  Mounted  Volunteers,  and  no  finer  re 
giment  of  horse  ever  clattered  behind  the  guidons. 
Missouri,  then  on  our  westernmost  frontier,  was 
peopled  by  hardy  pioneers,  and  the  youths  who 
filled  the  ranks  of  the  regiment  were  the  sons  of 
those  pioneers  and  possessed  all  the  courage  and 
endurance  of  their  fathers.  Though  Doniphan 
was  a  brigadier-general  of  militia  and  had  seen 
active  service,  he  enlisted  as  a  private  in  the 
regiment  which  he  had  raised,  but  when  the  elec 
tion  for  officers  came  to  be  held  he  was  chosen 
colonel  by  acclamation.  If  ever  a  man  looked  the 
beau  sabreur  it  was  Doniphan.  He  was  then  in 
his  eight-and-thirtieth  year  and  so  imposing  in 
appearance  that  the  mere  sight  of  him  in  any 
assemblage  would  have  caused  the  question: 
"Who  is  that  man  ?"  to  go  round.  Six  feet  four 
in  his  stockings;  crisp,  curling  hair,  which,  though 

241 


The  Road  to  Glory 

not  red,  was  suspiciously  near  it;  features  which 
would  have  been  purest  Grecian  had  not  an  aqui 
line  nose  lent  them  strength  and  distinction;  a 
complexion  as  fair  and  delicate  as  a  woman's;  a 
temperament  that  was  poetic,  even  romantic, 
without  being  effeminate;  a  sense  of  humor  so 
highly  developed  that  he  never  failed  to  recog 
nize  a  joke  when  he  heard  one;  a  personal  mod 
esty  which  was  as  delightful  as  it  was  unaffected; 
manners  so  courtly  and  polished  as  to  suggest  an 
upbringing  in  a  palace  rather  than  on  the  fron 
tier;  conversation  that  was  witty,  brilliant,  and 
wonderfully  fascinating — there  you  have  Alex 
ander  Doniphan  en  silhouette,  as  it  were.  Small 
wonder  that  President  Lincoln,  when  Colonel 
Doniphan  was  presented  to  him  in  after  years, 
remarked:  "Colonel,  you  are  the  only  man  I  ever 
met  whose  appearance  came  up  to  my  previous 
expectations." 

The  Army  of  the  West,  of  which  Colonel  Doni- 
phan's  Missourians  formed  a  part,  was  ordered  to 
mobilize  at  Fort  Leavenworth,  where  several  weeks 
were  spent  in  completing  the  equipment,  collect 
ing  supplies,  and  teaching  the  recruits  the  rudi 
ments  of  drill.  Everything  being  complete  down 
to  the  last  horseshoe,  on  the  morning  of  June  26, 
1846,  the  expedition,  comprising  barely  two  thou- 

242 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

sand  men  in  all,  headed  by  Colonel  Kearny  with 
two  squadrons  of  United  States  dragoons,  smart 
and  soldierly  in  their  flat-topped,  visored  caps  and 
their  shell-jackets  of  blue  piped  with  yellow,  and 
followed  by  a  mile-long  train  of  white-topped 
wagons,  set  out  across  the  grassy  prairies  on  a 
march  which  was  to  end  in  the  conquest  and  an 
nexation  of  a  territory  larger  than  all  the  United 
States  at  that  time.  It  would  be  difficult  to  ex 
press  the  hopes  and  apprehensions  of  the  volun 
teers  and  of  those  who  watched  and  waved  to 
them,  when,  with  the  bands  playing  "The  Girl  I 
Left  Behind  Me,"  they  moved  out  of  Fort  Leaven- 
worth  on  that  sunny  summer's  morning  and  turned 
their  horses'  heads  toward  the  south — and  Mexico. 
At  that  time  the  American  people's  knowledge  of 
Mexico  was  very  meagre,  for  the  geographies  of 
the  day,  though  indicating  very  clearly  the  Great 
American  Desert,  as  it  was  called,  stretching  long 
and  wide  and  yellow  between  Missouri  and  Mex 
ico,  showed  little  beyond  the  barest  outlines  of 
the  vast  unexplored  regions  to  the  west  and  south. 
The  people  of  Missouri,  however,  knew  more  than 
any  others,  for  their  traders,  for  more  than  twenty 
years,  had  laboriously  traversed  the  dangerous 
trail  which  led  from  Independence  to  the  northern 
most  of  the  Mexican  trading-posts  at  Santa  Fe  and 

243 


The  Road  to  Glory 

thence  on  to  Chihuahua.  Thus  they  knew  that 
the  regions  between  the  Missouri  and  the  Great 
Desert  were  Indian  country  and  dangerous,  and 
that  those  beyond  were  Indian  and  Mexican 
and  more  dangerous  still.  No  wonder  that  the 
volunteers  felt  that  every  mile  of  their  advance 
into  this  terra  incognita  would  reveal  perils,  mar 
vels,  and  surprises;  no  wonder  that  those  who 
were  left  behind  prayed  fervently  for  the  safety 
of  the  husbands  and  sons  and  lovers  who  had 
gone  into  the  wild  as  fighters  go. 

There  was  no  road,  not  even  a  path,  leading 
from  Fort  Leavenworth  into  the  Santa  Fe  trail, 
and,  as  the  intervening  country  was  slashed  across 
by  innumerable  streams  and  canyons,  bridges  and 
roads  had  to  be  built  for  the  wagons.  The  prog 
ress  of  the  column  was  frequently  interrupted  by 
precipitous  bluffs  whose  sides,  often  two  hundred 
feet  or  more  in  height,  were  so  steep  and  slippery 
that  it  was  impossible  for  the  mules  to  get  a  foot 
hold,  and  the  heavily  laden  wagons,  with  a  hun 
dred  sweating,  panting,  cursing  men  straining  at 
the  drag-ropes,  had  to  be  hauled  up  by  hand.  As 
the  column  pressed  southward  the  heat  became  un 
bearable.  The  tall,  rank  grass  harbored  swarms  of 
flies  and  mosquitoes  which  attacked  the  soldiers 
until  their  eyes  were  sometimes  swollen  shut  and 

244 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

clung  to  the  flanks  of  the  mules  and  horses  until 
the  tormented  animals  streamed  with  blood.  In 
places  the  ground  became  so  soft  and  marshy  that 
the  wagons  sank  to  the  hubs  and  the  march  was 
halted  while  a  dozen  teams  hauled  them  out 
again.  Numbers  of  the  wagons  broke  down  daily 
under  the  terrific  strain  to  which  they  were  sub 
jected,  and,  as  though  this  was  not  enough,  the 
troubles  of  the  teamsters  were  increased  by  the 
mules,  which,  maddened  by  the  attacks  of  insects 
and  made  refractory  by  the  unaccustomed  condi 
tions,  stubbornly  refused  to  work. 

Preceding  the  column  was  a  hunter  train,  com 
manded  by  Thomas  Forsyth,  a  celebrated  fron 
tiersman.  Leaving  camp  about  eleven  in  the 
evening  and  riding  through  the  night,  the  hunters 
and  butchers  would  reach  the  site  selected  for  the 
next  camp  at  daybreak  and  would  promptly  get 
to  work  killing  and  dressing  the  game  which 
swarmed  upon  the  prairies,  so  that  a  supply  of 
fresh  meat — buffalo,  elk,  antelope,  and  deer —  was 
always  awaiting  the  troops  upon  their  arrival  at 
sundown,  while  along  the  banks  of  the  Arkansas 
the  men  brought  in  quantities  of  wild  grapes, 
plums,  and  rice.  Arriving  at  the  towering  butte, 
standing  solitary  in  the  prairie,  known  as  Pawnee 
Rock,  Forsyth  asked  his  hunters  to  ascend  it  with 

245 


The  Road  to  Glory 

him.  Even  these  old  plainsmen,  accustomed  as 
they  were  to  seeing  prodigious  herds  of  game, 
whistled  in  amazement  at  the  spectacle  upon 
which  they  looked  down,  for  from  the  base  of  the 
rock  straightaway  to  the  horizon  the  prairie  was 
literally  carpeted  with  buffalo.  Forsyth,  who  was 
always  conservative  in  his  expressions,  estimated 
that  five  hundred  thousand  buffalo  were  in  sight, 
but  his  hunters  asserted  that  eight  hundred  thou 
sand  would  be  much  nearer  the  number  of  animals 
seen  from  the  summit  of  Pawnee  Rock  that 
morning. 

Crossing  the  Arkansas,  the  expedition  entered 
upon  the  Great  American  Desert — as  sterile, 
parched,  and  sandy  a  waste  as  the  Sahara. 
Dreary,  desolate,  boundless  solitude  reigned  every 
where.  The  heat  was  like  a  blast  from  an  opened 
furnace  door.  The  earth  was  literally  parched  to 
a  crust,  and  this  crust  had  broken  open  in  great 
cracks  and  fissures.  Such  patches  of  vegetation 
as  there  were  had  been  parched  and  shrivelled  by 
the  pitiless  sun  until  they  were  as  yellow  as  the 
sand  itself.  Soon  even  this  pretense  of  vegeta 
tion  disappeared;  the  parched  wire  grass  was  stiff 
ened  by  incrustations  of  salt;  streaks  of  alkali 
spread  across  the  face  of  the  desert  like  livid 
scars;  the  pulverized  earth  looked  and  felt  like 

246 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

smouldering  embers.  The  mules  grew  weak  from 
thirst  and  some  of  the  wagons  had  to  be  aban 
doned.  Horses  fell  dead  from  heat  and  exhaus 
tion,  but  the  men  thus  forced  to  march  on  foot 
managed  to  keep  pace  with  the  mounted  men. 
Their  boots  gave  out,  however,  and  for  miles  the 
line  of  their  march  could  be  traced  by  bloody 
footprints.  Wind-storms  drove  the  loose  sand 
of  the  desert  against  them  like  a  sand-blast, 
cutting  their  lips,  filling  their  eyes  and  ears  and 
sometimes  almost  suffocating  them.  Though  con 
stantly  tantalized  by  mirages  of  cool  lakes  with 
restful  groves  reflected  in  them,  they  would  fre 
quently  fail  to  find  a  pool  of  water  or  a  patch  of 
grass  in  a  long  day's  march  and  would  plod  for 
ward  with  their  swollen  tongues  hanging  from 
their  mouths.  Those  who  saw  the  smart  body 
of  soldiery  which  rode  out  of  Fort  Leavenworth 
would  scarcely  have  recognized  them  in  the  strag 
gling  column  of  ragged,  sun-scorched  skeletons  of 
men,  sitting  their  gaunt  and  jaded  horses,  which 
crossed  the  well-named  Purgatoire  eight  weeks 
later,  and  saw  before  them  the  snow  peaks  of  the 
Cimarrons. 

Although  four  thousand  Mexican  troops  under 
General  Armijo  had  been  gathered  at  the  pass  of 
the  Galisteo,  fifteen  miles  north  of  Santa  Fe,  where, 

247 


The  Road  to  Glory 

as  a  result  of  the  rugged  character  of  the  country, 
they  could  have  offered  a  long  and  desperate  resist 
ance  and  could  only  have  been  dislodged  at  a  great 
sacrifice  of  life,  upon  the  approach  of  the  American 
column  they  retired  without  firing  a  shot  and  re 
treated  to  Chihuahua.  On  the  i8th  of  August, 
1846,  the  American  forces  entered  Santa  Fe,  and 
four  days  later  Colonel  Kearny  issued  a  proclama 
tion  annexing  the  whole  of  New  Mexico  to  the 
Union.  As  the  red-white-and-green  tricolor  float 
ing  over  the  palace,  which  had  sheltered  a  long  line 
of  Spanish,  Indian,  and  Mexican  governors,  dropped 
slowly  down  the  staff  and  in  its  stead  was  broken 
out  a  flag  of  stripes  and  stars,  from  the  troops 
drawn  up  in  the  plaza  came  a  hurricane  of  cheers, 
while  the  field-guns  belched  forth  a  national  sa 
lute.  As  United  States  Senator  Benton  described 
this  remarkable  accomplishment  in  his  speech  of 
welcome  to  the  returning  troops:  "A  colonel's 
command,  called  an  army,  marches  eight  hundred 
miles  beyond  its  base,  its  communications  liable 
to  be  cut  by  the  slightest  effort  of  the  enemy — 
mostly  through  a  desert — the  whole  distance  al 
most  totally  destitute  of  resources,  to  conquer  a 
territory  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  square 
miles,  without  a  military  chest;  the  people  of  this 
territory  are  declared  citizens  of  the  United  States, 

248 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

and  the  invaders  are  thus  debarred  the  rights  of 
war  to  seize  needful  supplies;  they  arrive  with 
out  food  before  the  capital — a  city  two  hundred 
and  forty  years  old,  garrisoned  by  regular  troops." 
To  understand  the  reason  for  General  Armijo's 
evacuation  of  New  Mexico  without  firing  a  shot 
in  its  defense,  it  is  necessary  to  here  interject  a 
chapter  of  secret  history.  The  bloodless  annexa 
tion  of  New  Mexico  was  due,  not  to  Colonel 
Kearny,  but  to  an  American  trader  and  frontiers 
man  named  James  Macgoffin.  Macgoffin,  who  had 
lived  and  done  business  for  years  in  Chihuahua, 
was  intimately  acquainted  with  Mexico  and  the 
Mexicans.  He  was  not  only  familiar  with  the 
physiography  of  the  country,  but  he  understood 
the  psychology  of  its  people  and  how  to  take  ad 
vantage  of  it.  When  war  was  declared  he  hap 
pened  to  be  in  Washington.  Going  to  Senator 
Benton,  he  explained  that  he  wished  to  offer  his 
services  to  the  nation  and  outlined  to  the  deeply 
interested  senator  a  plan  he  had  in  mind.  Sen 
ator  Benton  immediately  took  Macgoffin  to  the 
White  House  and  obtained  him  an  interview  with 
the  President  and  the  Secretary  of  War,  who,  after 
listening  to  his  scheme,  gladly  availed  themselves 
of  his  services.  Macgoffin  thereupon  hastened  to 
Independence,  Mo.,  where  he  hastily  outfitted  a 

249 


The  Road  to  Glory 

wagon-train  and  some  weeks  later,  in  his  cus 
tomary  role  of  trader,  arrived  at  Santa  Fe,  reach 
ing  there  several  weeks  in  advance  of  Kearny's 
column.  The  details  of  his  dealings  with  Gen 
eral  Armijo,  of  how  he  worked  upon  his  cupidity, 
and  of  the  precise  inducements  which  he  offered 
him  to  withdraw  his  forces  from  the  pass  of  the 
Galisteo,  to  evacuate  Santa  Fe  and  leave  all  New 
Mexico  to  be  occupied  by  the  Americans,  are  bur 
ied  in  the  archives  of  the  Department  of  State, 
and  will  probably  never  be  known.  But  though 
Armijo  fled  and  Kearny  effected  a  bloodless  con 
quest,  Macgoffin's  work  was  not  yet  done.  There 
remained  the  most  dangerous  part  of  his  mission, 
which  was  to  do  for  General  Wool  in  Chihuahua 
what  he  had  done  for  Colonel  Kearny  in  Santa 
Fe.  That  he  carried  his  life  in  his  hands  no  one 
knew  better  than  himself,  for  had  the  Mexicans 
learned  of  his  mission  he  would  have  died  before 
a  firing-party.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  did  arouse 
the  suspicions  of  the  authorities  in  Chihuahua, 
but,  owing  to  their  inability  to  confirm  them  and 
to  his  personal  friendship  with  certain  high  offi 
cials,  instead  of  being  executed  he  was  sent  as  a 
prisoner  to  Durango,  where  he  was  held  until  the 
close  of  the  war.  Upon  his  return  to  Washing 
ton  after  hostilities  had  ended,  Congress,  in  se- 

250 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

cret  session,  voted  him  fifty  thousand  dollars  as 
remuneration  for  his  services,  but,  though  Presi 
dent  Taylor  urged  the  prompt  payment  of  the 
same,  the  War  Department  arbitrarily  reduced 
the  sum  to  thirty  thousand  dollars,  which  was  in 
sufficient  to  cover  the  disbursements  he  had  made. 
Ingratitude,  it  will  thus  be  seen,  is  not  confined  to 
princes. 

Having  organized  a  territorial  government, 
brought  order  out  of  chaos,  and  put  New  Mexico's 
house  in  thorough  order,  Kearny,  now  become  a 
general,  set  out  on  September  25  with  only  three 
hundred  dragoons  for  the  conquest  of  California. 
This  march  of  Kearny's,  with  a  mere  handful  of 
troopers,  across  fifteen  hundred  miles  of  unknown 
country  and  his  invasion,  subjugation,  and  occupa 
tion  of  a  bitterly  hostile  territory  are  almost  with 
out  parallel  in  history.  Colonel  Doniphan,  who 
was  left  in  command  of  all  the  forces  in  New  Mex 
ico,  rapidly  pushed  forward  his  preparations  for  his 
contemplated  descent  upon  Chihuahua,  delaying 
his  start  only  until  the  arrival  of  Colonel  Price's 
column  to  occupy  the  newly  conquered  territory. 
But  on  October  n,  just  as  everything  was  in 
readiness  for  the  expedition's  departure,  a  des 
patch  rider  brought  him  orders  from  Kearny  to 
delay  his  movement  upon  Chihuahua  and  proceed 

251 


The  Road  to  Glory 

into  the  country  of  the  Navajos  to  punish  them 
for  the  depredations  they  had  recently  committed 
along  the  western  borders  of  New  Mexico.  The 
disappointment  of  the  Missourians,  when  these 
orders  were  communicated  to  them,  can  be  im 
agined,  for  they  had  volunteered  for  a  war  against 
Mexicans,  not  Indians.  But  that  did  not  prevent 
them  from  doing  the  business  they  were  ordered 
to  do  and  doing  it  well.  Crossing  the  Cordilleras 
in  the  depths  of  winter  without  tents  and  without 
winter  clothing,  Doniphan  rounded  up  the  hostile 
chiefs  and  forced  them  to  sign  a  treaty  of  peace 
by  which  they  agreed  to  abstain  from  further 
molestation  of  their  neighbors,  whether  Indian, 
Mexican,  or  American.  A  novel  treaty,  that, 
signed  on  the  western  confines  of  New  Mexico 
between  parties  who  had  scarcely  so  much  as 
heard  each  other's  names  before,  and  giving  peace 
and  protection  to  Mexicans  who  were  hostile  to 
both.  No  wonder  that  the  Navajos  and  the  New 
Mexicans,  who  had  been  at  war  with  each  other 
for  centuries,  looked  with  amazement  and  respect 
on  an  enemy  who,  disregarding  all  racial  and 
religious  differences,  stepped  in  and  drew  up  a 
treaty  which  brought  peace  to  all  three. 

Owing  to  the  delay  caused  by  the  expedition 
against  the  Navajos,  it  was  the  middle  of  Decem- 

252 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

her  and  bitterly  cold  before  the  column  was  at 
last  ready  to  start  upon  the  conquest  of  Chihua 
hua.  The  line  of  march  was  due  south  from 
Santa  Fe,  along  the  east  bank  of  the  Rio  Grande, 
to  El  Paso  del  Norte.  Ninety  miles  of  it  lay 
through  the  Jornada  del  Muerto — the  "Journey 
of  Death."  In  traversing  this  desert  the  men  suf 
fered  terribly,  for  the  weather  had  now  become 
extremely  cold,  and  there  was  neither  wood  for 
fires  nor  water  to  drink.  The  soldiers,  though 
footsore  with  marching,  benumbed  by  the  piercing 
winds,  and  weakened  from  lack  of  food,  pushed 
grimly  forward  through  the  night,  for  there  were 
few  halts  for  rest,  setting  fire  to  the  dry  bunches 
of  prairie  grass  and  the  tinder-like  stalks  of  the 
soap-plant,  which  would  blaze  up  like  a  flash  of 
powder  and  as  quickly  die  out,  leaving  the  men 
shivering  in  the  cold.  The  course  of  the  strag 
gling  column  could  be  described  for  miles  by  these 
sudden  glares  of  light  which  intermittently  stabbed 
the  darkness.  Toward  midnight  the  head  of  the 
column  would  halt  for  a  little  rest,  but  through 
out  the  night  the  weary,  limping  companies  would 
continue  to  straggle  in,  the  men  throwing  them 
selves  supperless  upon  the  gravel  and  instantly 
falling  asleep  from  sheer  exhaustion.  At  day 
light  they  were  awakened  by  the  bugles  and  the 

253 


The  Road  to  Glory 

march  would  be  resumed,  with  no  breakfast  save 
hardtack,  for  there  was  no  fuel  upon  the  desert 
with  which  to  cook.  Such  was  the  three  days' 
march  of  Doniphan's  men  across  the  Journey  of 
Death.  On  the  22d  of  December  the  expedition 
reached  the  Mexican  hamlet  of  Donanna,  where  the 
soldiers  found  an  abundance  of  cornmeal,  dried 
fruit,  sheep,  and  cattle,  as  well  as  grain  and  fodder 
for  their  starving  horses,  and,  most  welcome  of 
all,  streams  of  running  water.  The  army  was 
now  within  the  boundaries  of  the  state  of  Chi 
huahua. 

On  Christmas  Day,  after  a  shorter  march  than 
usual,  the  column  encamped  at  the  hamlet  of 
Brazito,  twenty-five  miles  from  El  Paso,  on  the 
Rio  Grande.  While  the  men  were  scattered  among 
the  mesquite  in  quest  of  wood  and  water  a  splut 
ter  of  musketry  broke  out  along  their  front,  and 
the  pickets  came  racing  in  with  the  news  that  a 
strong  force  of  Mexicans  was  advancing.  The  of 
ficers,  as  cool  as  though  back  at  Fort  Leaven- 
worth,  threw  their  men  into  line  for  their  first 
battle.  Colonel  Doniphan  and  his  staff  had  been 
playing  loo  to  determine  who  should  have  a  fine 
Mexican  horse  that  had  been  captured  by  the 
advance-guard  that  morning. 

"I'm  afraid  we'll  have  to  stop  the  game  long 
254 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

enough  to  whip  the  greasers,"  Doniphan  remarked, 
carefully  laying  his  cards  face  down  upon  the 
ground,  "but  just  bear  in  mind  that  I'm  ahead 
in  the  score.  We'll  play  it  out  after  the  scrap  is 
over."  The  game  was  never  finished,  however, 
for  during  the  battle  the  horse  which  formed  the 
stakes  mysteriously  disappeared. 

The  Mexican  force,  which  was  under  the  com 
mand  of  General  Ponce  de  Leon,  was  composed 
of  some  thirteen  hundred  men.  Five  hundred  of 
these  consisted  of  the  Vera  Cruz  lancers,  one  of 
the  crack  regiments  of  the  Mexican  army;  the 
remainder  were  volunteer  cavalry  and  infantry 
from  El  Paso  and  Chihuahua.  When  a  few  hun 
dred  yards  separated  the  opposing  forces,  a  lieu 
tenant  of  lancers,  magnificently  mounted  and  car 
rying  a  black  flag — a  signal  that  no  quarter  would 
be  given — spurred  forward  at  full  gallop  until 
within  a  few  paces  of  the  American  line,  when, 
with  characteristic  Mexican  bravado,  he  suddenly 
jerked  his  horse  back  upon  its  haunches.  Doni- 
phan's  interpreter,  a  lean  frontiersman  clad  in  the 
broad-brimmed  hat  and  fringed  buckskin  of  the 
plains,  rode  out  to  meet  him. 

"General  Ponce  de  Leon,  in  command  of  the 
Mexican  forces,"  began  the  young  officer  arro 
gantly,  "presents  his  compliments  to  your  com- 

255 


The  Road  to  Glory 

mander  and  demands  that  he  appear  instantly 
before  him." 

"If  your  general  is  so  all-fired  anxious  to  see 
Colonel  Doniphan,"  was  the  dry  answer,  "let  him 
come  over  here.  We  won't  run  away  from  him." 

"We'll  come  and  take  him,  then !"  shouted  the 
hot-headed  youngster  angrily;  "and  remember 
that  we  shall  give  no  quarter!" 

"Come  right  ahead,  young  feller,"  drawled  the 
plainsman,  as  the  messenger  spurred  back  to  the 
Mexican  lines,  his  sinister  flag  streaming  behind 
him.  "You'll  find  us  right  here  waitin'  fer  you." 

No  sooner  had  the  messenger  delivered  the 
American's  defiance  than  the  trumpets  of  the 
Mexican  cavalry  sounded  and  the  lancers,  de 
ploying  into  line,  moved  forward  at  a  trot.  They 
presented  a  beautiful  picture  on  their  sleek  and 
shining  horses,  their  green  tunics  faced  with  scarlet, 
their  blue  skin-tight  pantaloons,  their  brass-plated, 
horse-tailed  schapkas,  and  the  cloud  of  scarlet 
pennons  which  fluttered  from  their  lances.  The 
bugles  snarled  again,  the  five  hundred  lances 
dropped  as  one  from  vertical  to  horizontal,  five 
hundred  horses  broke  from  a  trot  into  a  gallop, 
and  from  five  hundred  throats  burst  a  high-pitched 
scream:  "Fiva  Mexico!  Viva  Mexico!" 

Waiting  until  the  line  of  cheering,  charging 
256 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

horsemen  was  within  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards, 
the  officer  in  command  of  the  American  left  called, 
in  the  same  tone  he  would  have  used  on  parade: 
"Now,  boys,  let  'em  have  it!"  Before  the  tor 
rent  of  lead  that  was  poured  into  it  the  Mexi 
can  line  halted  as  abruptly  as  though  it  had  run 
into  a  stone  wall,  shivered,  hesitated.  Dead  men 
toppled  to  the  ground,  wounded  men  swayed 
drunkenly  in  their  saddles  while  great  splotches 
of  crimson  spread  upon  their  gaudy  uniforms, 
riderless  horses  galloped  madly  away,  and  cursing 
officers  tore  up  and  down,  frantically  trying  to  re 
form  the  shattered  squadrons.  At  this  critical 
juncture,  when  the  Mexicans  were  debating 
whether  to  advance  or  to  retreat,  Captain  Reed, 
recognizing  the  psychological  value  of  the  mo 
ment,  hurled  his  company  of  dismounted  Mis- 
sourians  straight  at  the  Mexican  line.  So  furious 
was  the  onset  of  the  little  band  of  troopers  that 
the  crack  cavalry  of  Mexico,  already  on  the  verge 
of  demoralization,  turned  and  fled.  Meanwhile 
the  Chihuahua  infantry,  taking  advantage  of  the 
cover  afforded  by  the  dense  chaparral,  had  moved 
forward  against  the  American  right.  As  the  Mex 
icans  advanced  Doniphan  ordered  his  men  down 
on  their  faces,  cautioning  them  to  hold  their  fire 
until  he  gave  the  word.  The  advancing  Mexi- 

257 


The  Road  to  Glory 

cans,  seeing  men  drop  all  along  the  line  and  sup 
posing  that  their  scattering  fire  had  wrought 
terrible  execution,  with  a  storm  of  vivas  dashed 
forward  at  the  double.  But  as  they  emerged  into 
the  open,  barely  a  stone's  throw  from  the  Ameri 
can  line,  the  whole  right  wing  rose  as  one  man 
and  poured  in  a  paralyzing  volley.  "Now,  boys, 
go  in  and  finish  'em!"  roared  Doniphan,  a  gi 
gantic  and  commanding  figure  on  a  great  chestnut 
horse.  With  the  high-keyed,  piercing  cheer  which 
in  later  years  was  to  be  known  as  "the  rebel 
yell,"  the  Missourians  leaped  forward  to  do  his 
bidding.  In  advance  of  the  line  raced  Forsyth, 
the  chief  of  scouts,  and  another  plainsman,  firing 
as  they  ran.  And  every  time  their  rifles  cracked  a 
Mexican  would  stagger  and  fall  headlong. 

Meanwhile  the  American  centre  had  repulsed 
the  enemy  with  equal  success,  though  a  field-piece 
which  the  Mexicans  had  brought  into  action  at 
incautiously  close  range  continued  to  annoy  them 
with  its  fire. 

"What  the  hell  do  you  reckon  that  is?"  in 
quired  one  Missourian  of  another,  as  a  solid  shot 
whined  hungrily  overhead. 

"A  cannon,  I  reckon,"  answered  some  one. 

"Come  on!  Let's  go  and  get  it!"  shouted 
some  one  else,  and  at  the  suggestion  a  dozen  men 

258 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

dashed  like  sprinters  across  the  bullet-swept  zone 
which  lay  between  them  and  the  field-piece.  So 
quickly  was  it  done  that  the  Mexican  gunners 
were  bayonetted  where  they  stood  and  in  an 
other  moment  the  gun,  turned  in  the  opposite 
direction,  was  pouring  death  into  the  ranks  of  its 
late  owners.  In  thirty  minutes  the  battle  of  the 
Brazito  was  history,  and  the  Mexicans — such  of 
them  as  were  left — were  pouring  southward  in  a 
demoralized  retreat,  which  did  not  halt  until  they 
reached  Chihuahua.  Five  hundred  Americans — 
for  the  balance  of  Doniphan's  column  did  not 
reach  the  scene  until  the  battle  was  virtually  over 
— in  a  stand-up  fight  on  unfamiliar  ground,  with 
all  the  odds  against  them,  whaled  the  life  out  of 
thirteen  hundred  as  good  soldiers  as  Mexico  could 
put  into  the  field.  In  killed,  wounded,  and  pris 
oners  the  Mexicans  lost  upward  of  two  hundred 
men;  the  American  casualties  consisted  of  eight 
wounded.  In  such  fashion  did  Doniphan  and  his 
Missourians  celebrate  the  Christmas  of  1846. 

The  expedition  remained  six  weeks  at  El  Paso, 
awaiting  the  arrival  of  a  battery  of  artillery  which 
Doniphan  had  asked  Colonel  Price  to  send  him 
from  Santa  Fe;  so  February  was  well  advanced 
before  the  troops  started  on  the  final  stage  of  their 
advance  upon  Chihuahua.  A  few  days  after  his 

259 


The  Road  to  Glory 

departure  from  El  Paso  Colonel  Doniphan  re 
ceived  astounding  news.  An  American  named 
Rodgers,  who  had  escaped  from  Chihuahua  at 
peril  of  his  life,  brought  word  that  General  Wool, 
to  whom  Doniphan  had  been  ordered  to  report 
at  Chihuahua,  had  abandoned  his  march  upon 
that  city  and  that  the  Mexicans  were  mobilizing 
a  formidable  force  to  defend  the  place.  Though 
Wool's  change  of  plan  was  known  in  the  United 
States,  Doniphan  had  penetrated  so  far  into  the 
enemy's  country  that  there  was  no  way  to  warn 
him  of  his  danger,  and  the  nation  waited  with 
bated  breath  for  news  of  the  annihilation  of  his 
little  column.  Even  at  this  stage  of  the  march 
Doniphan  could  have  retraced  his  steps  and 
would  have  been  more  than  justified  in  doing  so, 
for  it  seemed  little  short  of  madness  for  a  force 
of  barely  a  thousand  men,  wholly  without  sup 
port,  to  invade  a  state  which  was  aware  of  their 
coming  and  was  fully  prepared  to  receive  them. 
It  shows  the  stuff  of  which  Doniphan  and  his 
Missourians  were  made  that  they  never  once 
considered  turning  back. 

On  February  12  the  expedition  reached  the 
edge  of  the  arid,  sun-baked  desert,  threescore  miles 
in  width,  whose  pitiless  expanse  lies  squarely 
athwart  the  route  from  El  Paso  to  Chihuahua. 

260 


In  another  moment  the  gun  was  pouring  death  into  the 
ranks  of  its  late  owners. 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

Two  days  later,  after  giving  the  animals  an  oppor 
tunity  to  feed  and  rest,  the  never-to-be-forgotten 
desert  march  began.  Aware  that  not  a  drop  of 
water  was  to  be  had  until  the  desert  was  crossed, 
the  troopers  not  only  filled  their  water-bottles, 
but  tied  their  swords  about  their  necks  and  filled 
the  empty  scabbards  with  water.  The  first  day 
the  column  covered  twenty  miles  and  encamped 
for  the  night  in  the  heart  of  the  desert.  The  fol 
lowing  day  the  loose  sand  became  so  deep  that 
the  wagons  were  buried  to  the  hubs  and  the  teams 
had  to  be  doubled  up  to  pull  them  through. 
The  mules  were  so  weak  from  thirst,  however, 
that  the  soldiers  had  to  put  their  shoulders  to 
the  wheels  before  the  wagons  could  be  extricated 
from  the  engulfing  sands.  Notwithstanding  this 
delay,  twenty-four  more  miles  were  covered  be 
fore  the  soldiers,  their  lips  cracked  open,  their 
tongues  swollen,  and  their  throats  parched  and 
burning,  threw  themselves  upon  the  sands  to 
snatch  a  few  hours'  rest.  The  next  day  was  a 
veritable  purgatory,  for  the  canteens  were  empty, 
the  horses  and  mules  were  neighing  piteously  for 
water,  and  many  of  the  men  were  delirious  and 
muttered  incoherently  as  they  staggered  across 
the  llanos,  swooning  beneath  waves  of  shifting 
heat.  As  the  day  wore  on  their  sufferings  grew 

261 


The  Road  to  Glory 

more  terrible;  many  of  the  supplies  had  to  be 
abandoned,  and  finally,  when  only  ten  miles  from 
water,  the  oxen  were  turned  loose.  Though  only 
a  few  miles  now  separated  them  from  the  Guya- 
gas  Springs,  where  there  was  water  and  grass 
a-plenty,  men  and  horses  were  too  weak  to  cun- 
tinue  the  march  and  fell  upon  the  desert,  little 
caring  whether  they  lived  or  died.  Indeed,  had 
it  not  been  for  a  providential  rain-storm  which 
burst  upon  them  a  few  hours  later,  quenching 
their  thirst  and  cooling  their  burning  bodies,  a 
trail  of  bleaching  skeletons  would  probably  have 
marked  the  end  of  Doniphan's  expedition. 

Upon  reaching  the  lush  meadows  which  bor 
dered  the  little  lake*  near  Guyagas  Springs  a 
long  sigh  of  relief  went  up  from  the  perspiring 
column,  for  here  they  could  spend  a  few  days  in 
rest  and  recuperation.  But,  though  they  had,  as 
by  a  miracle,  escaped  a  death  by  thirst,  they 
were  suddenly  confronted  by  another  and  even 
greater  danger.  A  trooper  carelessly  knocked  the 
ashes  from  his  pipe  upon  the  ground;  the  sun- 
dried  grass  instantly  took  fire;  and  before  the 
soldiers  realized  their  peril,  a  waist-high  wall  of 
flame,  fanned  by  a  brisk  wind,  was  bearing  down 

*  The  efflorescent  soda  mcrusted  on  the  margin  of  the  water  was 
used  by  the  soldiers  as  a  substitute  for  saleratus. 

262 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

upon  them.  All  attempts  to  check  the  progress 
of  the  fire  proving  useless,  the  animals  were  hast 
ily  harnessed  and  a  desperate  attempt  was  made 
by  the  teamsters  to  get  their  wagons  ahead  of 
the  flames,  but  a  gale  was  blowing  in  the  direc 
tion  the  column  was  advancing  and  the  barrier 
of  fire,  now  spread  out  for  many  miles,  was  ap 
proaching  faster  than  a  man  could  walk;  so  the 
wagons  and  guns  were  run  into  the  lake.  That 
the  expedition  was  saved  was  due  to  the  ingenu 
ity  of  a  trooper  in  the  Missouri  Horse  Guards, 
who  had  had  experience  with  prairie  fires  before. 
Acting  upon  his  suggestion,  the  soldiers  were  dis 
mounted  and  ordered  to  cut  the  grass  with  their 
sabres  over  a  zone  thirty  feet  in  width  and  then 
set  fire  to  the  grass  standing  next  to  the  wind, 
which  burned  slowly  until  it  met  the  advancing 
conflagration.  That  night  the  men  slept  on  the 
bare  and  blackened  earth,  without  forage  for  their 
horses  but  with  thankfulness  in  their  hearts. 

A  few  days  after  this  episode  the  scouts  in 
advance  of  the  column  saw  a  group  of  horse 
men  riding  toward  them  across  the  plain.  As  the 
party  came  nearer  it  was  seen  to  consist  of  thirty 
or  forty  Indians  led  by  a  single  white  man.  The 
latter  proved  to  be  one  of  the  strangest  characters 
ever  produced  by  the  wild  life  of  the  frontier. 

263 


The  Road  to  Glory 

His  name  was  Captain  James  Kirker,  or,  as  he 
was  called  by  the  Mexicans,  Santiago  Querque, 
and  he  was  an  Indian  fighter  by  profession.  By 
this  I  do  not  mean  that  he  took  part  in  the  period 
ical  wars  between  the  Indians  and  the  whites,  but 
that  he  contracted  to  kill  Indians  at  so  much  per 
head,  just  as  hunters  in  certain  portions  of  the 
country  make  a  business  of  tracking  and  killing 
vermin  for  the  bounty.  For  many  years  past 
Kirker,  whose  fame  was  as  wide  as  the  plains, 
had  been  employed  by  the  state  of  Chihuahua  to 
exterminate  the  Apaches  who  terrorized  its  bor 
ders,  and,  thinking  to  fight  the  devil  with  fire, 
he  had  imported  twoscore  Delaware  braves,  noted 
even  among  the  Indians  for  their  abilities  as 
trackers,  to  help  him  in  hunting  down  the  Apaches. 
Shortly  before  the  outbreak  of  the  war  the  gov 
ernment  of  Chihuahua  owed  Kirker  thirty  thou 
sand  dollars  for  the  scalps  of  Apaches  he  had 
slain,  but  when  hostilities  began  it  refused  to  pay 
him  and  threatened  him  and  his  braves  with 
imprisonment  if  they  persisted  in  their  claims. 
Thus  it  came  about  that  Doniphan  received  a 
considerable  addition  to  the  strength  of  his  force, 
for  no  sooner  had  Kirker  received  word  of  the 
approach  of  the  column  than  he  and  his  Dela- 
wares  slipped  out  of  Chihuahua  between  two  days 

264 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

and  rode  off  to  offer  their  services  to  their  coun 
trymen.  Because  of  his  remarkable  knowledge  of 
the  country  and  his  acquaintance  with  the  lan 
guage  and  customs  of  the  people,  Kirker  proved 
of  essential  service  to  Doniphan  as  an  interpreter 
and  forage-master,  while  his  Delawares  were  in 
valuable  as  scouts.  In  appearance  Kirker  was  a 
dime-novel  hero  come  to  life,  for  his  long  hair 
fell  upon  his  shoulders;  his  mustaches  were  of 
a  size  and  fierceness  that  would  have  abashed  a 
pirate;  from  neck  to  knees  he  was  dressed  in 
gorgeously  embroidered,  soft-tanned  buckskin; 
his  breeches  disappeared  in  high-heeled  boots  or 
namented  with  enormous  spurs,  which  jangled 
noisily  when  he  walked;  his  high-crowned  som 
brero  was  heavy  with  gold  braid  and  bullion; 
thrust  carelessly  into  his  scarlet  sash  was  a  veri 
table  armory  of  knives  and  pistols,  and  the  thor 
oughbred  he  bestrode  could  show  its  heels  to  any 
horse  in  northern  Mexico. 

On  the  28th  of  February,  when  within  less  than 
ten  miles  of  Chihuahua,  the  Americans  caught 
their  first  glimpse  of  the  army  which  had  been 
assembled  to  receive  them.  The  enemy  occupied 
the  brow  of  a  rocky  eminence,  known  as  Sacra 
mento  Hill,  which  rises  sharply  from  a  plateau 
guarded  on  one  side  by  the  Sacramento  River  and 

265 


The  Road  to  Glory 

on  the  other  by  a  dried-up  watercourse,  known 
as  an  arroyo  seco.  The  great  natural  strength  of 
the  position  had  been  enormously  increased  by 
an  elaborate  system  of  fieldworks  consisting  of 
twenty-eight  redoubts  and  intrenchments.  Here, 
in  this  apparently  impregnable  position,  which 
was  the  key  to  the  capital  of  the  state,  and 
hence  to  all  northern  Mexico,  the  Mexican  army, 
which,  according  to  the  muster-rolls  which  fell  into 
Doniphan's  possession  after  the  battle,  consisted 
of  four  thousand  two  hundred  and  twenty  men, 
was  prepared  to  offer  a  desperate  resistance  to 
the  invader.  To  oppose  this  strongly  intrenched 
force,  which  comprised  the  very  flower  of  the 
Mexican  army,  Colonel  Doniphan  had  one  thou 
sand  and  sixty-four  men,  of  whom  one  hundred 
and  fifty  were  teamsters.  No  wonder  that  the 
Mexicans  were  so  confident  of  victory  that  they 
had  prepared  great  quantities  of  shackles  and 
handcuffs  to  be  used  in  marching  the  captured 
gringos  to  the  capital  in  triumph. 

Now,  if  Colonel  Doniphan  had  acted  according 
to  the  cut-and-dried  rules  of  the  game  as  taught 
in  military  schools  and  books  on  tactics  and  had 
done  what  the  Mexican  commander  expected  him 
to  do,  there  is  little  doubt  that  he  and  his  men — 
such  of  them  as  were  not  killed  in  battle  or  shot 

266 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

in  cold  blood  afterward — would  have  gone  to  the 
City  of  Mexico  in  the  chains  so  thoughtfully  pro 
vided  for  them.  But  being  a  shirt-sleeve  fighter, 
as  it  were,  and  not  in  the  least  hampered  by  a 
knowledge  of  scientific  warfare,  he  did  the  very 
thing  that  he  was  not  expected  to  do.  Instead 
of  attempting  to  fight  his  way  down  the  high 
road  which  led  to  Chihuahua,  which  was  com 
manded  by  the  enemy's  guns,  and  where  they 
could  have  wiped  him  out  without  leaving  their 
intrenchments,  he  formed  his  column  into  a  sort 
of  hollow  square,  cavalry  in  front,  infantry  on 
the  flanks,  and  guns  and  wagons  in  the  centre, 
suddenly  deflected  it  to  the  right,  and  before  the 
Mexicans  grasped  the  significance  of  the  ma 
noeuvre  he  had  thrown  his  force  across  the  arroyo 
secOy  had  gained  the  summit  of  the  plateau,  and 
had  deployed  his  men  upon  the  highland  in  such  a 
position  that  the  Mexican  commander  was  com 
pelled  to  hastily  reconstruct  his  whole  plan  of 
battle.  By  this  single  brilliant  manoeuvre  Don- 
iphan  at  once  nullified  the  advantage  the  Mexi 
cans  derived  from  their  commanding  position. 

The  Americans  scarcely  had  time  to  get  their 
guns  into  position  and  form  their  line  of  battle 
before  a  cavalry  brigade,  twelve  hundred  strong, 
led  by  General  Garcia  Conde,  ex-minister  of  war, 

267 


The  Road  to  Glory 

swept  down  from  the  fortified  heights  with  a 
thunder  and  roar  to  open  the  engagement.  This 
time  there  was  no  waiting,  as  at  the  Brazitos,  for 
the  Mexicans  to  get  within  close  range;  the  ad 
vancing  force  was  too  formidable  for  that.  In 
the  centre  of  the  American  position  was  posted 
the  artillery — four  howitzers  and  six  field-guns — 
under  Captain  Weightman.  Above  the  ever 
loudening  thunder  of  the  approaching  cavalry 
could  be  heard  that  young  officer's  cool,  clear 
voice:  "Form  battery!  Action  front!  Load 
with  grape!  Fire  at  will!"  As  the  wave  of 
galloping  horses  and  madly  cheering  men  surged 
nearer,  Weightman's  gunners,  getting  the  range 
with  deadly  accuracy,  poured  in  their  thirty  shots 
a  minute  as  methodically  as  though  they  were  on 
a  target-range.  In  the  face  of  that  blast  of  death 
the  Mexican  cavalry  scattered  like  autumn  leaves. 
Within  five  minutes  after  their  bugles  had 
screamed  the  charge,  the  finest  brigade  of  cav 
alry  that  ever  followed  Mexican  kettle-drums, 
shattered,  torn,  and  bleeding,  had  turned  tail  and 
was  spurring  full  tilt  for  the  shelter  of  the  forti 
fications,  leaving  the  ground  over  which  they  had 
just  passed  strewn  with  their  dead  and  dying. 
For  the  next  fifty  minutes  the  battle  consisted  of 
an  artillery  duel  at  long  range,  throughout  which 

268 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

Colonel  Doniphan  sat  on  his  war-horse  at  the 
rear  of  the  American  battery,  his  foot  thrown 
carelessly  across  the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  whit 
tling  a  piece  of  wood — an  object-lesson  in  cool 
ness  for  his  men  and,  incidentally,  a  splendid 
mark  for  the  Mexican  gunners. 

While  the  guns  of  the  opposing  forces  were  ex 
changing  compliments  at  long  range  the  Ameri 
can  officers  busied  themselves  in  forming  their 
men  preparatory  to  taking  the  offensive.  That 
was  Doniphan's  plan  of  battle  always — to  get  in 
the  first  blow.  When  everything  was  in  readi 
ness,  Colonel  Doniphan  tossed  away  his  stick, 
pocketed  his  knife,  drew  his  sabre,  and  signalled 
to  his  bugler  to  sound  the  advance.  As  the 
bugles  shrieked  their  signal  the  whole  line,  horse, 
foot,  and  guns,  dashed  forward  at  a  run.  It  was 
a  daring  and  hazardous  proceeding,  a  thousand 
men  charging  across  open  ground  and  up  a  hill 
to  carry  fortifications  held  by  a  force  four  times 
the  strength  of  their  own,  but  its  very  audacity 
brought  success.  So  splendid  was  the  discipline 
which  Doniphan  had  hammered  into  his  force 
that  the  infantry  officers  ran  sideways  and  back 
ward  in  front  of  their  men  as  they  advanced,  just 
as  they  would  have  done  on  the  drill  field,  keep 
ing  them  in  such  perfect  step  and  order  that,  as 

269 


The  Road  to  Glory 

an  English  eye-witness  afterward  remarked,  a  can 
non-ball  could  have  been  fired  between  their  legs 
down  the  line  without  injuring  a  man.  Not  a 
shot  was  fired  by  the  Americans  until  they  reached 
the  first  line  of  redoubts,  behind  which  the  Mexi 
can  officers  were  frantically  endeavoring  to  steady 
their  wavering  men.  As  the  Americans  surged 
over  the  intrenchments  they  paused  just  long 
enough  to  pour  in  a  volley  and  then  went  in  with 
the  bayonet.  At  almost  the  same  moment  Cap 
tain  Weightman  brought  his  guns  into  action 
with  a  rattle  and  crash  and  began  pouring  a  tor 
rent  of  grape  into  the  now  thoroughly  demoralized 
Mexicans.  As  the  right  wing  stormed  the  breast 
works  an  American  sergeant  who  was  well  in  ad 
vance  of  the  line,  having  emptied  his  rifle  and 
pistols  and  being  too  hard  pressed  to  reload  them, 
threw  away  his  weapons  and  defended  himself  by 
hurling  rocks.  When  the  order  to  charge  was 
given,  Kirker,  the  Indian  fighter,  called  to  an 
other  scout  named  Collins:  "Say,  Jim,  let's  see 
which  of  us  can  get  into  that  battery  first."  The 
battery  referred  to  was  in  the  second  redoubt, 
whence  it  was  directing  a  galling  fire  upon  the 
Americans  over  the  heads  of  the  Mexicans  de 
fending  the  first  line  of  fortifications.  Collins's 
only  reply  was  to  pull  down  his  hat,  draw  his 

270 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

sword,  bury  his  spurs  in  his  horse's  flanks,  and 
ride  at  the  battery  as  a  steeplechaser  rides  at  a 
water-jump,  Kirker,  his  long  hair  streaming  in 
the  wind,  tearing  along  beside  him.  Is  it  any 
wonder  that  the  Mexicans  exclaimed  to  each  other: 
"These  are  not  men  we  are  fighting — they  are 
devils!" 

All  the  companies  were  now  pressing  forward 
and  pouring  over  the  intrenchments,  the  Mexi 
cans  sullenly  giving  way  before  them.  Mean 
while  the  left  wing,  under  Major  Gilpin,  had  scaled 
the  heights,  swarmed  over  the  breastworks,  and 
driven  out  the  enemy,  while  a  company  under 
Captain  Hughes  had  burst  into  a  battery  defended 
by  trenches  filled  with  Mexican  infantry,  which 
they  had  literally  cut  to  pieces,  and  had  killed  or 
captured  the  artillerymen  as  they  were  endeav 
oring  to  set  off  the  guns.  Though  the  Mexican 
commander,  General  Heredia,  made  a  desperate 
attempt  to  rally  his  panic-stricken  troops  under 
cover  of  repeated  gallant  charges  by  the  cav 
alry  under  Conde,  the  men  were  too  far  gone 
with  terror  to  pay  any  heed  to  the  frantic  ap 
peals  of  their  officers.  With  the  American  cav 
alry  clinging  to  its  flanks  and  dealing  it  blow  upon 
savage  blow,  the  retreat  of  the  Mexican  army 
quickly  turned  into  a  rout,  the  splendid  force  that 

271 


The  Road  to  Glory 

had  marched  out  of  Chihuahua  a  few  days  before 
returning  to  it  a  beaten,  cowed,  and  bleeding 
rabble.  The  battle  of  the  Sacramento  lasted  three 
hours  and  a  half,  and  in  that  time  an  American 
force  of  nine  hundred  and  twenty-four  effective 
men — the  rest  were  teamsters — utterly  routed  a 
Mexican  army  of  four  thousand  two  hundred  and 
twenty  men  fighting  from  behind  supposedly  im 
pregnable  intrenchments.  In  killed,  wounded, 
and  prisoners  the  Mexicans  lost  upward  of  nine 
hundred  men;  the  Americans  had  four  killed  and 
seven  wounded.  The  battle  of  the  Sacramento 
was  in  many  respects  the  most  wonderful  ever 
fought  by  American  arms.  For  sheer  audacity, 
disproportionate  numbers,  and  sweeping  success 
the  battle  of  Manila  Bay  may  be  set  down  as  its 
only  rival.  The  only  land  battle  at  all  approach 
ing  it  was  that  of  New  Orleans,  but  there  the 
Americans  fought  at  home,  on  their  own  soil,  be 
hind  fortifications.  At  Sacramento  Doniphan's 
men  attacked  a  fortified  position  held  by  troops 
outnumbering  them  more  than  four  to  one.  They 
were  in  a  strange  land,  thousands  of  miles  from 
home.  They  were  in  rags,  suffering  from  lack  of 
food.  They  believed  that  they  had  been  aban 
doned  by  their  own  government  and  left  to  their 
fate.  In  case  of  defeat  there  was  no  hope  of 

272 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

succor,  no  help — nothing  but  inevitable  destruc 
tion.  That  is  why  I  say  that  the  exploit  of  these 
Missourians  has  never  been  surpassed,  if,  indeed, 
it  has  ever  been  equalled  in  the  annals  of  the 
world's  warfare. 

There  is  little  more  to  tell.  The  following  day, 
with  the  regimental  bands  playing  "Hail  Colum 
bia"  and  "Yankee  Doodle,"  Colonel  Doniphan 
and  his  men  entered  the  city  of  Chihuahua  in 
triumph.  For  two  months  they  held  undisputed 
possession  of  the  metropolis  of  northern  Mexico; 
the  city  was  cleaned  and  policed;  law  and  order 
were  rigidly  enforced  and  the  rights  of  the  citi 
zens  strictly  respected.  On  the  28th  of  April, 
1847,  in  pursuance  of  orders  received  from  Gen 
eral  Wool,  the  expedition  evacuated  Chihuahua 
and  set  out  across  an  arid  and  desolate  country 
for  Saltillo,  covering  the  six  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  miles  in  twenty-five  days.  After  being  re 
viewed  and  publicly  thanked  by  General  Taylor, 
the  Missourians  started  on  the  last  stage  of  their 
wonderful  march.  Reaching  Matamoros,  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Rio  Grande,  they  took  ship  for 
New  Orleans,  whose  citizens  went  mad  with  en 
thusiasm.  Their  journey  by  steamboat  up  the 
Mississippi  was  one  continuous  ovation;  at  every 
town  they  passed  the  whistles  shrieked,  the  bells 

273 


The  Road  to  Glory 

rang,  and  the  townspeople  cheered  themselves 
hoarse  at  sight  of  the  sun-browned  veterans  in 
their  faded  and  tattered  uniforms.  On  July  I, 
after  an  absence  of  a  little  more  than  a  year,  to  the 
strains  of  "Auld  Lang  Syne"  and  "Home,  Sweet 
Home,"  Doniphan  and  his  One  Thousand  once 
again  set  foot  on  the  soil  of  old  Missouri.  Going 
out  from  the  western  border  of  their  State,  they 
re-entered  it  from  the  east,  having  made  a  circuit 
equal  to  a  fourth  of  the  circumference  of  the 
globe,  providing  for  themselves  as  they  went, 
driving  before  them  forces  many  times  the  strength 
of  their  own,  leaving  law  and  order  and  justice  in 
their  wake,  and  returning  with  trophies  taken  on 
battle-fields  whose  names  few  Americans  had  ever 
heard  before.  It  is  a  sad  commentary  on  the 
gratitude  of  republics  that  the  government  never 
acknowledged,  either  by  promotion,  decoration, 
or  the  thanks  of  Congress,  the  invaluable  services 
of  Alexander  Doniphan;  there  is  no  statue  to  him 
in  any  town  or  city  of  his  State;  not  even  a  men 
tion  of  his  immortal  expedition  can  be  found  in 
the  school  histories  of  the  nation  he  served  so 
well.  He  lived  for  forty  years  after  his  great 
march  and  lies  buried  under  a  granite  shaft  in 
the  cemetery  at  Liberty,  Mo.  Though  forgotten 
by  his  countrymen,  the  brown-faced  folk  below 

274 


The  March  of  the  One  Thousand 

the  Rio  Grande  still  tell  of  the  days  when  the 
great  captain  came  riding  down  from  the  north 
to  invade  a  nation  at  the  head  of  a  thousand 
men. 


275 


WHEN   WE   FOUGHT   THE   JAPANESE 


WHEN   WE   FOUGHT  THE   JAPANESE 

"...  I  met  'im  all  over  the  world,  a-doin'  all  kinds 

of  things, 

Like  landin'  'isself  with  a  Gatlin'  gun  to  talk  to 
them  'eathen  kings. 

For  there  isn't  a  job  on  the  top  o'  the  earth  the  beggar 

don't  know,  nor  do — 
You  can  leave  Jim  at  night  on  a  bald  man's  'ead  to 

paddle  'is  own  canoe." 

THERE  you  have  a  four-line  epitome  of  the 
career  and  character  of  the  burly,  tousle- 
headed,  gruff-voiced  old  sea-dog  who  is  the  hero 
of  this  narrative.  His  name  ?  Matthew  Cal- 
braith  Perry,  one  time  commodore  in  the  navy 
of  the  United  States  and  younger  brother  of  that 
other  Yankee  sea-fighter,  Oliver  Hazard  Perry, 
without  whose  picture,  wrapped  in  the  Chesa- 
peake's  flag  and  standing  in  a  dramatic  attitude 
in  the  stern-sheets  of  a  small  boat,  no  school  his 
tory  of  the  United  States  would  be  complete. 
Though  Matthew  did  not  have  to  depend  upon 
the  reflected  glory  of  his  famous  brother,  for  he 
won  glory  enough  of  his  own,  his  extraordinary 

279 


The  Road  to  Glory 

exploits  have  never  received  the  attention  of  which 
they  are  deserving,  partly,  no  doubt,  because  they 
were  obscured  by  the  smoke  of  his  brother's  guns 
on  Lake  Erie  and  partly  because  they  were  per 
formed  at  a  period  in  our  national  history  when 
the  public  mind  was  occupied  with  happenings 
nearer  home. 

His  father,  a  Yankee  privateersman  of  the  up- 
boys-and-at-'em  school,  was  captured  by  a  British 
cruiser  during  the  Revolution  and  sent  as  a  pris 
oner  of  war  to  Ireland,  where  his  captivity  was  made 
considerably  more  than  endurable  by  a  peaches- 
and-cream  beauty  from  the  County  Down.  After 
the  war  was  over  he  returned  to  Ireland  and  gave 
a  typical  story-book  ending  to  the  romance  by 
hunting  up  the  girl  who  had  cheered  his  prison 
hours  and  making  her  his  wife.  The  dashing 
young  skipper  and  his  sixteen-year-old  bride  built 
themselves  a  house  within  sight  of  the  shipping 
along  the  Newport  wharfs,  and  there,  when  the 
eighteenth  century  lacked  but  half  a  dozen  years 
of  having  run  its  course  and  when  our  flag  bore 
but  fifteen  stars,  Matthew  was  born.  How  many 
of  the  neighbors  who  came  flocking  in  to  admire 
the  lusty  youngster  dreamed  that  he  would  live 
to  command  the  largest  fleet  which,  in  his  life 
time,  ever  gathered  under  the  folds  of  that  flag 

280 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

and  that  his  exploits  on  the  remotest  seaboards 
of  the  world  would  make  the  wildest  fiction  seem 
probable  and  tame  ? 

Young  Perry  was  helping  to  make  history  at 
an  age  when  most  boys  are  still  in  school,  for, 
as  a  midshipman  of  seventeen,  he  stood  beside 
Commodore  Rodgers  when  he  lighted  the  fuse  of 
the  "Long  Tom"  in  the  forecastle  battery  of  the 
frigate  President  and  sent  a  ball  crashing  into  the 
British  war-ship  Belvidera — the  first  shot  fired  in 
the  War  of  1812.  In  the  same  ship  and  under 
the  same  commander  he  scoured  the  seas  of 
northern  Europe  in  a  commerce-destroying  raid 
which  extended  from  the  English  Channel  to  the 
Arctic,  during  which  the  daring  American  was 
hunted  by  twenty  British  men-of-war,  sailing,  for 
safety's  sake,  in  pairs.  As  a  young  lieutenant  in 
command  of  the  Cyane  he  convoyed  the  first  party 
of  American  negroes  sent  to  West  Africa  to  estab 
lish,  under  the  name  of  Liberia,  a  country  of  their 
own.  It  was  on  this  voyage  that  the  character 
of  the  man  who,  in  later  years,  was  to  revolution 
ize  the  commerce  of  the  world  first  evidenced 
itself.  Putting  into  TenerifFe,  in  the  Canaries, 
for  water  and  provisions,  Perry,  resplendent  in 
"whites"  and  gold  lace,  went  ashore  to  pay  the 
Portuguese  governor  the  customary  call  of  cere- 

281 


The  Road  to  Glory 

mony.  As  he  was  taking  leave  of  the  governor 
he  casually  remarked  that  the  Cyane,  on  leaving 
the  harbor,  would,  of  course,  fire  the  usual  salute. 
Whereupon  the  Portuguese  official,  a  pompous 
royalist  who  had  a  deep-seated  aversion  to  repub 
lican  institutions  and  went  out  of  his  way  to 
show  his  contempt  for  them,  told  the  young  com 
mander  that  the  shore  batteries  would  return  the 
salute  less  one  gun,  for,  as  he  impudently  remarked, 
Portugal  considered  herself  superior  to  republics 
and  could  not  treat  them  as  equals.  Perry,  white 
with  anger,  told  the  governor  that  the  nation 
which  he  had  the  honor  to  serve  was  the  equal 
of  any  monarchy  on  earth,  and  that  unless  he 
received  an  assurance  that  his  salute  would  be 
returned  gun  for  gun,  he  would  fire  no  salute  at 
all.  That  afternoon  the  Cyane  sailed  past  the  bat 
teries,  over  which  flew  the  Portuguese  flag,  in  a 
silence  which  unmistakably  spelled  contempt. 
Though  personally  Perry  was  the  most  peaceable 
of  men,  as  the  representative  of  the  United  States 
in  distant  oceans  he  perpetually  carried  a  chip  on 
his  shoulder  and  defied  any  one  to  knock  it  off. 
A  cannibal  king  tried  it  once,  and — but  of  that 
you  shall  hear  a  little  later. 

A  year  or  so  after  he  had  landed  his  party  of 
negro  colonists  he  visited  the  coast  of  cannibals 

282 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

and  fevers  again  and  at  the  mouth  of  the  Mesu- 
rado  River  chose  the  site  of  the  future  capital 
of  Liberia,  which  was  named  Monrovia  in  honor 
of  President  Monroe,  thus  establishing  the  first 
and  only  colony  ever  founded  by  the  United 
States.  His  next  commission  was  to  wipe  out 
the  pirates  who,  shielding  themselves  under  the 
flags  of  the  new  South  American  republics  and 
assuming  the  thin  disguise  of  privateersmen,  were 
terrorizing  commerce  upon  the  Spanish  main. 
Under  Commodore  David  Porter  he  spent  eight 
months  under  sail  upon  the  Gulf,  and  when  he 
at  last  turned  his  bowsprit  toward  the  north, 
he  had  put  an  end  to  the  depredations  of  the 
"dago  robbers,"  as  his  seamen  called  them.  It 
was  here,  in  fact,  that  the  term  "dago"  as  ap 
plied  by  Americans  to  foreigners  of  the  Latin 
race  began.  The  name  of  James,  the  Spaniards' 
patron  saint,  has  been  indiscriminately  bestowed, 
in  its  Spanish  form,  lago,  upon  provinces,  islands, 
towns,  and  rivers  from  one  end  of  Spanish  Amer 
ica  to  the  other,  Santiago,  San  Diego,  lago,  and 
Diego  being  such  constantly  recurring  names  that 
the  American  sailors  early  fell  into  the  custom  of 
calling  the  natives  of  these  parts  "Diegos"  or 
"dago  men,"  whence  the  slang  term  so  univer 
sally  used  to-day. 

283 


The  Road  to  Glory 

About  the  time  that  the  United  States  was 
celebrating  its  fiftieth  birthday  the  government 
at  Washington,  thinking  it  high  time  to  give  the 
Europeans  an  object-lesson  in  the  naval  power  of 
the  oversea  republic,  ordered  a  squadron  of  war 
ships  to  the  Mediterranean,  in  many  of  whose 
ports  the  American  flag  was  as  unfamiliar  as 
China's  dragon  banner.  The  command  of  the  ex 
pedition  was  given  to  Commodore  Rodgers,  who 
hoisted  his  pennant  on  the  North  Carolina,  the 
finest  and  most  formidable  craft  that  had  yet 
been  launched  from  an  American  shipyard,  and 
Perry  went  along  as  executive  officer  to  his  old 
chief.  When  the  great  ship,  with  the  grim  muz 
zles  of  her  one  hundred  and  two  guns  peering 
from  her  three  tiers  of  port-holes,  majestically  en 
tered  the  European  harbors  under  her  cloud  of 
snowy  canvas,  the  natives  were  goggle-eyed  with 
admiration  and  amazement,  for  in  those  days  most 
Europeans  thought  of  America — when  they  gave 
it  any  thought  at  all — as  a  land  of  Indians,  grizzly 
bears,  and  buckskin-clad  frontiersmen.  As  execu 
tive  officer,  Perry's  duties  comprised  pretty  much 
everything  which  needed  to  be  done  on  deck. 
Whether  in  cocked  hat  and  gold  epaulets  by 
day  or  in  oilskins  and  sou'wester  at  night,  he 
was  regent  of  the  ship  and  crew.  The  duties  of 

284 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

the  squadron  were  not  confined  to  visits  of  cere 
mony,  either,  for  one  of  the  objects  for  which  it 
had  been  sent  was  to  teach  the  pirates  who  in 
fested  Levantine  waters  that  it  was  as  dangerous 
to  molest  vessels  flying  the  American  flag  as  to 
tamper  with  a  stick  of  dynamite.  During  the 
Greek  struggle  for  independence,  which  was  then 
in  progress,  the  Greek  privateers  had  on  more 
than  one  occasion  been  a  trifle  careless  in  differ 
entiating  between  the  vessels  of  neutral  nations 
and  those  of  their  Turkish  oppressors,  and  in 
May,  1825,  they  committed  a  particularly  bad 
error  of  judgment  by  seizing  a  merchant  ship 
from  Boston.  In  those  days  the  administration 
at  Washington  was  as  quick  to  resent  such  af 
fronts  as  it  is  tardy  nowadays,  and  no  sooner  had 
the  American  squadron  arrived  in  Levantine 
waters  than  it  sought  an  opportunity  to  teach 
the  Greeks  a  lesson.  An  opportunity  soon  pre 
sented  itself.  Learning  that  a  British  merchant 
man,  the  Comet,  had  been  seized  by  the  Greeks, 
Rodgers  ordered  her  to  be  recaptured  and  sent  a 
boarding  party  of  bluejackets  and  marines  to  do 
the  business.  Swarming  up  the  bow-chains,  the 
Americans  gained  the  deck  before  the  pirates 
realized  just  what  was  happening,  though  the 
ship  was  not  taken  without  a  desperate  hand-to- 

285 


The  Road  to  Glory 

hand  struggle,  in  which  Lieutenant  Carr,  singling 
out  the  pirate  chief,  killed  him  with  his  own  hand. 
Thenceforward  the  Greeks,  whenever  they  saw  a 
vessel  flying  the  stars  and  stripes,  touched  their 
hats,  figuratively  speaking.  The  North  Carolina  s 
mission  thus  having  been  accomplished,  in  the 
spring  of  1827  Perry  ordered  the  boatswain  to 
sound  the  welcome  call:  "All  hands  up  anchor 
for  home." 

So  well  had  Perry  performed  his  exacting  duties 
that  when  the  Concord,  of  eighteen  guns,  was 
completed,  two  years  later,  he  was  given  com 
mand  of  her  and  instructed  to  carry  our  envoy, 
John  Randolph,  of  Roanoke,  to  Russia.  While 
lying  in  the  harbor  of  Cronstadt  the  Concord  was 
visited  by  Czar  Nicholas  I — -the  first  Russian 
sovereign  to  set  foot  on  the  deck-planks  of  an 
American  war-ship.  He  was  so  pleased  with  what 
he  saw  that  he  invited  Perry  to  a  private  audi 
ence,  during  which  the  young  American  naval 
officer  and  the  Great  White  Czar  chatted  and 
smoked  with  all  the  informality  of  old  friends. 
Before  the  interview  was  over  the  ruler  of  all  the 
Russias  offered  Perry  an  admiral's  commission  in 
the  Russian  service,  but  the  latter,  recalling,  no 
doubt,  the  unfortunate  experience  of  his  great 
countryman,  John  Paul  Jones,  while  admiral  in 

286 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

the  navy  of  Czar  Nicholas's  grandmother,  the 
Empress  Catherine,  declined  the  flattering  offer. 
The  Yankee  sailorman's  next  experience  with  the 
Lord's  anointed  was  on  the  other  side  of  Europe. 
Acting  under  instructions  to  leave  the  visiting 
cards  of  the  United  States  at  every  port  of  im 
portance  in  the  Old  World — for  nations  are  just 
as  punctilious  about  paying  and  returning  calls  as 
society  women — Perry  dropped  anchor  one  fine 
spring  morning  in  the  harbor  of  Alexandria.  In 
vited  to  dine  at  Ras-el-Tin  Palace  with  Mohammed 
Ali,  the  founder  of  the  Khedival  dynasty,  the 
brilliancy  and  efficiency  of  the  young  American 
impressed  the  conqueror  of  the  Sudan  as  much 
as  they  had  the  conqueror  of  Poland,  and  when 
Perry  and  his  officers  left  they  took  with  them, 
as  presents  from  the  Khedive,  thirteen  gold- 
mounted,  jewel-incrusted  swords,  from  which,  by 
the  way,  was  adopted  the  "Mameluke  grip"  now 
used  in  our  navy. 

When  Andrew  Jackson  sat  himself  down  in  the 
White  House,  in  1829,  he  promptly  inaugurated 
the  same  straight-from-the-shoulder-smash-bang 
foreign  policy  which  had  characterized  him  as  a 
soldier  and  used  the  navy  to  back  up  his  policy. 
During  the  period  from  1809  to  1812  the  Nea 
politan  Government,  first  under  Joseph  Bona- 

287 


The  Road  to  Glory 

parte  and  then  under  Joachim  Murat,  had,  under 
the  terms  of  Napoleon's  universal  embargo,  con 
fiscated  numerous  American  ships  and  cargoes, 
the  claims  filed  with  the  State  Department  in 
Washington  aggregating  upward  of  one  million 
seven  hundred  thousand  dollars.  No  sooner  had 
Jackson  taken  his  oath  of  office,  therefore,  than 
he  appointed  John  Nelson  minister  to  the  king 
dom  of  Naples  and  ordered  him  to  collect  these 
claims.  And  in  order  that  the  Neapolitans,  who 
were  an  evasive  lot  and  kissed  every  coin  good-by 
before  parting  with  it,  might  be  convinced  that 
the  United  States  meant  business,  Commodore 
John  Patterson — the  same  who  had  aided  Jack 
son  in  the  defense  of  New  Orleans — was  given  a 
squadron  of  half  a  dozen  war-ships  and  instructed 
to  back  up  the  minister's  demands  by  the  menace 
of  his  guns.  The  force  at  Patterson's  disposal 
consisted  of  three  fifty-gun  frigates  and  three 
twenty-gun  corvettes,  which  sufficed,  according 
to  the  plan  evolved  by  the  commodore,  for  a 
naval  drama  in  six  acts.  Almost  at  the  moment 
of  sailing  the  commander  of  the  Brandy  wine  was 
taken  ill,  and  our  friend  Perry  was  ordered  to 
replace  him.  (Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  per 
sistent  run  of  luck  ?)  Now,  of  all  the  Americans 
who  visit  Naples  each  year,  I  very  much  doubt 

288 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

if  there  is  one  in  a  hundred  thousand  who  is 
aware  that  an  American  war  fleet  once  lay  in  that 
lovely  harbor  and  threatened — in  diplomatic  lan 
guage,  of  course — to  blow  that  charming  city  off" 
the  map  if  a  little  account  which  it  had  come  to 
collect  was  not  paid  then  and  there.  When  Min 
ister  Nelson  went  ashore  in  the  Brandywine  s  gig, 
called  upon  the  Neapolitan  minister  of  state,  Count 
Cassaro,  and  intimated  that  the  United  States 
would  appreciate  an  immediate  settlement  of  its 
account,  which  was  long  overdue,  the  wily  Nea 
politan  almost  laughed  in  his  face.  Why  should 
the  government  of  Ferdinand  II,  notorious  for  its 
corruption  at  home,  pay  any  attention  to  the  de 
mands  of  an  almost  unknown  republic  five  thou 
sand  miles  away  ?  The  very  idea  was  laughable, 
preposterous,  absurd.  No !  the  Yankee  envoy, 
with  but  a  solitary  war-ship  to  back  him  up, 
would  not  get  a  single  soldo.  Very  well,  said 
Minister  Nelson,  the  climate  was  pleasant  and 
the  Neapolitan  Government  might  shortly  change 
its  mind — in  fact  he  thought  that  it  undoubtedly 
would — and  he  would  hang  around.  So  Perry 
dropped  the  Brandy  wine's  anchor  under  the 
shadow  of  Capadimonte,  and  he  and  Minister  Nel 
son  smoked  and  chatted  contentedly  enough  in  the 
pleasant  shade  of  the  awnings.  Three  days  later 

289 


The  Road  to  Glory 

another  floating  fortress,  black  guns  peering  from 
her  ports  and  a  flag  of  stripes  and  stars  trailing 
from  her  stern,  sailed  majestically  up  the  bay. 
It  was  the  frigate  United  States.  Again  Minister 
Nelson  called  on  Count  Cassaro,  and  again  his 
request  was  refused,  but  this  time  a  shade  less 
curtly.  Nor  did  King  Bomba,  in  his  palace  on 
the  hill,  laugh  quite  so  loudly.  Four  days  slipped 
away  and  splash  went  the  anchor  of  the  Concord 
alongside  her  sisters.  King  Bomba  began  to  look 
anxious,  and  his  minister  was  plainly  worried,  but 
still  the  money  remained  unpaid.  Two  days  later 
the  John  Adams  came  sweeping  into  the  harbor 
under  a  cloud  of  snowy  canvas  and  hove  to  so 
as  to  bring  her  broadside  to  bear  upon  the  city — 
whereupon  Count  Cassaro  sent  hurriedly  for  some 
local  bankers.  When  the  fifth  ship  sailed  in,  the 
city  was  agog  with  excitement,  and  the  Neapoli 
tans  had  almost  reached  the  point  of  being  hon 
est — but  not  quite.  But  the  report  that  a  sixth 
ship  was  entering  the  harbor  brought  the  desired 
result,  for  Count  Cassaro  called  for  his  carriage, 
hastened  to  the  American  envoy,  and  asked  him 
whether  he  would  prefer  the  money  in  drafts  or 
cash. 

Though  the  next  ten  years  of  Perry's  life  were 
spent  on  shore  duty,  as  the  result  of  the  extraor- 

290 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

dinary  work  he  performed  during  that  compara 
tively  brief  time,  he  came  to  be  known  as  "the 
educator  of  the  navy.55  In  those  ten  years  he 
founded  the  Brooklyn  Naval  Lyceum;  com 
manded  the  Fulton,  the  first  American  war  vessel 
independent  of  wind  and  tide;  discovered  the 
value  of  the  ram  as  a  weapon  of  offense  and 
thereby  changed  the  tactics  of  sea-fights  from 
"broadside  to  broadside55  to  "prow  on55;  revolu 
tionized  the  naval  architecture  of  the  world;  mod 
ernized  the  lighthouse  system  along  our  coasts; 
substituted  the  use  of  shells  for  solid  shot  in  our 
navy;  and  established  the  School  of  Gun  Practice 
at  Sandy  Hook.  Any  one  of  these  was  an  achieve 
ment  of  which  a  man  would  have  good  reason  to 
be  proud.  Any  one  of  them  was  a  service  which 
merited  the  appreciation  of  the  nation.  In  1840 
he  was  rewarded  with  the  rank  of  commodore, 
and  thenceforward  the  vessel  that  carried  him 
flew  the  "broad  pennant.55  Yet  all  of  his  later 
illustrious  services  under  the  red,  the  white,  and 
the  blue  pennants  added  nothing  to  his  pay,  per 
manent  rank,  or  government  reward,  for  until 
the  year  1862  there  was  no  office  in  the  American 
navy  carrying  higher  pay  than  that  of  captain. 

As  a  result  of  the  Webster-Ashburton  treaty, 
whereby  England  and  the  United  States  bound 

291 


The  Road  to  Glory 

themselves  to  suppress  the  slave-trade,  Perry  was 
given  command  of  an  eighty-gun  squadron,  and 
in  1842  was  ordered  to  the  west  coast  of  Africa 
for  the  purpose  of  stamping  out  the  traffic  in 
"black  ivory"  and,  incidentally,  to  protect  the 
negro  colony  he  had  established  in  Liberia  a 
quarter  of  a  century  before  from  the  aggressions 
of  the  native  rulers.  Though  the  framers  of  the 
treaty  were  unquestionably  sincere  in  their  desire 
to  stamp  out  the  traffic  in  human  beings,  and 
though  both  the  British  and  American  navies 
made  every  effort  to  enforce  it,  these  efforts  were 
nullified  by  the  fact  that  for  a  number  of  years 
the  courts  of  England  and  the  United  States  re 
fused  to  convict  a  slaver  unless  captured  with  the 
slaves  actually  on  board.  The  absurdity — and 
tragedy — of  this  ruling  was  emphasized  by  the 
case  of  the  slaver  Brilliante.  On  one  of  her  dashes 
from  the  west  coast  of  Africa  to  the  Gulf  coast 
of  the  United  States  her  captain  found  himself 
becalmed  and  surrounded  by  four  war-ships. 
Aware  that  he  would  certainly  be  boarded  unless 
the  wind  quickly  rose,  he  stretched  his  entire 
cable  chain  on  deck,  suspended  it  clear  of  every 
thing,  and  shackled  to  it  his  anchor,  which  hung 
on  the  bow  ready  to  drop.  To  this  chain  he 
lashed  the  six  hundred  slaves  he  had  aboard.  He 

292 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

waited  until  he  could  hear  the  oars  of  the  board 
ing  parties  close  at  hand — then  he  cut  the  anchor. 
As  it  fell  it  dragged  overboard  the  cable  with  its 
human  freight,  and  though  the  men-of-war's  men 
heard  the  shrieks  of  the  victims  and  found  their 
fetters  lying  on  the  deck,  the  fact  remained  that 
there  were  no  slaves  aboard;  so,  in  conformity 
with  the  rulings  of  the  learned  judges  in  Wash 
ington  and  London,  there  was  nothing  left  for 
the  boarders  but  to  depart  amid  the  jeers  of  the 
slaver's  captain  and  crew. 

Upon  reaching  the  west  coast,  known  then, 
as  now,  as  "the  white  man's  graveyard,"  the  first 
thing  to  which  Perry  turned  his  attention  was  the 
settlement  of  an  outstanding  score  with  the  tribes 
men  of  Berribee,  who  inhabited  that  region  which 
now  comprises  the  French  Ivory  Coast.  A  few 
months  prior  to  his  visit  the  untutored  savages 
of  this  coast  of  death  had  enticed  ashore  the  cap 
tain  and  crew  of  the  American  schooner  Mary 
Carver  and,  after  unspeakable  tortures,  had  mur 
dered  them.  For  three  hours  Captain  Carver  was 
subjected  to  torments  almost  incredible  in  the 
fiendish  ingenuity  they  displayed,  finally,  when 
all  but  dead,  being  bound  and  turned  over  to 
the  women  and  children  of  the  tribe,  who  amused 
themselves  by  sticking  thorns  into  his  flesh  until 

293 


The  Road  to  Glory 

he  was  a  human  pincushion.  Then  they  cooked 
and  ate  him.  It  was  with  uneasy  consciences, 
therefore,  that  the  natives  saw  four  great  black 
ships,  flying  the  same  strange  flag  that  they  had 
taken  from  the  Mary  Carver,  drop  anchor  off 
Berribee  one  red-hot  November  morning. 

Commodore  Perry  sent  a  message  to  the  King, 
who  bore  the  pleasing  name  of  Crack-0,  that  it 
would  be  better  for  his  health  as  well  as  for  that 
of  the  white  men  trading  along  the  coast  if  he 
moved  his  capital  a  considerable  distance  inland. 
The  ebony  monarch  sent  back  the  suggestion  that 
the  matter  be  thrashed  out  at  a  palaver  to  be  held 
in  the  royal  kraal  two  days  later.  On  the  morning 
appointed  Commodore  Perry,  with  twelve  boat 
loads  of  sailors  and  marines,  landed  with  consid 
erable  difficulty  through  the  booming  surf  and, 
escorted  by  fifty  natives  armed  with  rusty  mus 
kets  of  an  obsolete  pattern,  marched  through  the 
jungle  to  the  palaver  house.  As  he  entered  the 
town  it  did  not  escape  the  keen  eye  of  the  Ameri 
can  commander  that  there  was  a  noticeable  ab 
sence  of  natives  to  greet  him;  he  guessed,  and 
rightly,  that  the  warriors  were  in  ambush  and 
that  the  women  and  children  had  taken  to  the 
bush.  So,  before  entering  the  palaver  house,  he 
took  the  precaution  of  posting  sentries  at  the 

294 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

gates  of  the  stockade  and  of  drawing  up  his  men 
close  by  with  orders  to  break  into  the  kraal  if 
they  heard  a  disturbance.  Then  he  strode  into 
the  presence  of  King  Crack-O,  and  two  strong  men 
stood  face  to  face.  The  African  ruler  was  a  gi 
gantic  negro  with  a  face  as  ugly  as  sin  and  the 
frame  of  a  prize-fighter,  his  tremendous  muscles 
playing  like  snakes  under  a  skin  made  shiny  with 
cocoanut  oil.  Flung  over  his  massive  shoulders 
was  the  royal  robe  of  red  and  yellow,  and  tilted 
rakishly  on  his  fuzzy  skull  was  a  dilapidated  top- 
hat — the  emblem  of  royalty  throughout  native 
Africa.  Behind  him,  leaning  against  the  wall  and 
within  easy  reach,  was  his  trowel-bladed  spear,  a 
vicious  weapon  with  a  six-foot  shaft  which,  in  the 
hands  of  a  man  who  knew  how  to  use  it,  could 
be  driven  through  a  three-inch  plank.  Twelve 
notches  on  its  haft  told  their  own  grim  story. 
Taking  him  by  and  large,  he  was  a  mighty  formi 
dable  figure,  was  his  Majesty  King  Crack-O  of 
Berribee,  though  the  American  commodore,  who 
stood  six  feet  two  in  his  stockings  and  was  built 
in  proportion,  was  not  exactly  puny  himself.  As 
the  Berribee  tongue  was  not  included  in  the  re 
markable  list  of  languages  of  which  Perry  had 
made  himself  master,  and  as  King  Crack-O's 
knowledge  of  English  was  confined  to  such  odds 

295 


The  Road  to  Glory 

and  ends  of  profanity  as  he  had  picked  up  from 
seamen  and  traders,  a  voluble  African  named 
Yellow  Will,  who  proved  himself  a  most  impu 
dent  and  barefaced  liar,  did  the  interpreting.  It 
was  the  interpreter,  in  fact,  who  precipitated  the 
shindy,  for  his  attitude  quickly  became  so  inso 
lent  that  Perry,  who  was  a  short-tempered  man 
under  the  best  of  circumstances,  shook  his  fist 
under  his  nose  and  thundered  that  he  would  either 
speak  the  truth  or  get  a  flogging.  Terrified  by 
the  violence  of  the  explosion,  the  interpreter 
bolted  for  the  gate,  and  the  sentry,  who  believed 
in  acting  first  and  inquiring  afterward,  levelled 
his  rifle  and  shot  him  dead.  Instantly  the  royal 
enclosure  was  in  an  uproar.  King  Crack-O 
snatched  at  his  spear,  but,  quick  as  the  big 
black  was,  the  American  commodore  was  quicker. 
Perry,  who,  despite  his  size,  was  as  quick  on  his 
feet  as  a  professional  boxer,  hurled  himself  upon 
Crack-O  before  he  could  get  to  his  weapon  and 
caught  him  by  the  throat,  while  a  sergeant  of 
marines,  who  had  burst  in  at  sound  of  the  scuffle, 
shot  the  King  through  the  body.  Though  mor 
tally  wounded,  the  negro  ruler  fought  with  the 
ferocity  of  a  gorilla,  again  and  again  hurling  off 
the  half  dozen  sailors  who  attempted  to  make  him 
prisoner,  being  subdued  only  when  a  marine 
brought  a  rifle  barrel  down  on  his  head  and 

296 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

stretched  him  senseless.  The  forest  encircling  the 
royal  kraal  was  by  this  time  vomiting  armed  and 
yelling  warriors,  who  opened  fire  with  their  anti 
quated  muskets,  a  compliment  which  the  blue 
jackets  and  marines  returned  with  deadly  effect. 
Bound  hand  and  foot,  the  wounded  King  was 
taken  out  to  the  flag-ship,  where  he  died  the  next 
morning.  Before  departing,  the  sailors  touched  a 
match  to  his  mud-and-wattle  capital,  though  not 
before  they  had  recovered  the  flag  taken  from 
the  ill-fated  Mary  Carver,  and  in  twenty  minutes 
the  town  was  a  heap  of  smoking  ashes.  Moving 
slowly  down  the  coast,  Perry  landed  punitive  ex 
peditions  at  every  village  of  importance,  drove 
back  the  tribesmen,  destroyed  their  crops,  con 
fiscated  their  cattle,  and  burned  their  towns. 
News  travels  in  Africa  by  the  "underground  rail 
way"  as  though  by  wireless,  and  the  effect  of  this 
powder-and-ball  policy  was  quickly  felt  along  a 
thousand  miles  of  coast,  the  tribal  chieftains  hast 
ening  in,  under  flags  of  truce,  "to  talk  one  big 
palaver,  to  pay  plenty  bullock,  to  no  more  fight 
white  man."  Thus  was  concluded  one  of  those 
"little  wars"  which  have  done  so  much  to  make 
the  red-white-and-blue  flag  respected  at  the  utter 
most  ends  of  the  earth,  but  of  which  our  people 
seldom  hear. 

In  1846  came  the  war  with  Mexico  and  with  it 
297 


The  Road  to  Glory 

still  another  opportunity  for  Perry  to  add  to  his 
reputation.  Opportunity  seemed,  indeed,  to  be 
forever  hammering  at  his  door — and  he  never  let 
the  elusive  jade  escape  him.  When  Scott  found 
that  his  artillery  was  unable  to  effect  a  breach  in 
the  walls  of  Vera  Cruz,  he  asked  Perry,  who  was 
in  charge  of  the  naval  operations  in  the  Gulf,  for 
the  loan  of  some  heavy  ordnance  from  the  fleet, 
saying  that  his  soldiers  would  do  the  handling. 
"Where  the  guns  go  the  men  go,  too,"  responded 
Perry — and  they  did.  Landing  the  great  guns 
from  his  war-ships,  he  manned  them  with  his  own 
crews,  pushed  them  up  to  within  eight  hundred 
yards  of  the  Mexican  fortifications,  and  hammered 
them  to  pieces  with  an  efficiency  and  despatch 
which  amazed  the  army  officers,  who  had  never 
taken  the  sailor  into  consideration  as  a  fighting 
factor  on  land.  It  was  Perry's  guns,  served  by 
the  bluejackets  he  had  trained  and  aimed  by  of 
ficers  who  had  learned  their  business  at  the  School 
of  Gun  Practice  he  had  founded,  which  opened  a 
gate  through  the  walls  of  Vera  Cruz  for  Scott's 
triumphant  advance  on  the  Mexican  capital. 

Perry  had  long  advocated  the  value  of  sailors 
trained  as  infantry,  and  this  campaign  gave  him 
an  opportunity  to  show  his  critics  that  he  knew 
what  he  was  talking  about.  Forming  the  first 

298 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

American  naval  brigade  ever  organized,  he  moved 
slowly  down  the  Gulf  coast,  landing  and  captur 
ing  every  town  he  came  to,  until  the  whole  lit 
toral  from  the  Rio  Grande  to  Yucatan  was  in  his 
possession.  At  the  taking  of  Tabasco — now 
known  as  San  Juan  Bautista — the  novel  sight 
was  presented  of  the  commander-in-chief  of  the 
American  naval  forces  leading  the  landing  parties 
in  person.  The  capital  of  the  state  of  Tabasco 
lies  in  the  heart  of  the  rubber  country,  some 
seventy  miles  up  the  Tabasco  River,  and  only 
eighteen  degrees  above  the  equator.  The  expedi 
tion  against  it  consisted  of  forty  boats,  convey 
ing  eleven  hundred  men.  This  was  new  work  for 
American  sailors,  for  up  to  that  time  our  naval 
traditions  consisted  of  squadron  fights  in  line, 
ship-to-ship  duels  and  boarding  parties.  In  this 
case,  however,  a  flotilla  was  to  ascend  a  narrow 
and  tortuous  river  for  seventy  miles  through  a 
densely  wooded  region,  which  afforded  continu 
ous  cover  for  riflemen,  and  then  to  disembark 
and  attack  heavy  shore  batteries  defended  by  a 
force  many  times  the  strength  of  their  own.  As 
the  long  line  of  boats  reached  the  hairpin  turn  in 
the  river  known  as  the  Devil's  Bend,  the  dense 
jungle  which  lined  both  sides  of  the  stream  sud 
denly  blazed  with  musketry  and  the  boats  were 

299 


The  Road  to  Glory 

swept  with  a  rain  of  lead.  Perry,  who  was  stand 
ing  in  an  exposed  position  under  the  awnings  of 
the  leading  boat,  his  field-glasses  glued  to  his  eyes, 
escaped  death  by  the  breadth  of  a  hair.  As  the 
spurts  of  flame  and  smoke  leaped  from  the  wall 
of  shrubbery  he  roared  the  order,  "Fire  at  will !" 
and  the  fusillade  of  small  arms  that  ensued  rid 
dled  the  jungle  and  effectually  put  to  flight  the 
Mexicans. 

When  within  a  few  miles  of  the  town  it  was 
found  that  the  Mexicans  had  placed  obstructions 
in  the  channel  in  such  a  manner  that  they  would 
have  to  be  blown  up  before  the  boats  could  pass. 
And  for  this  Perry  would  not  wait.  Directing  the 
gunners  to  sweep  the  beach  with  grape,  he  gave 
the  order:  "Prepare  to  land  !"  He  himself  took 
the  tiller  of  the  leading  boat.  Reaching  the  line 
of  obstructions  in  the  river,  he  suddenly  steered 
straight  for  the  shore  and,  rising  in  his  boat, 
called  in  a  voice  which  echoed  over  river  and 
jungle:  "Three  cheers,  my  lads,  and  give  way 
all !"  Responding  with  three  thunderous  hurrahs, 
the  sailors  bent  to  their  oars  and  raced  toward 
the  shore  as  the  college  eights  race  down  the  river 
at  Poughkeepsie.  Perry  was  the  first  to  land. 
Followed  by  his  flag-captain  and  his  aides,  he 
dashed  up  the  almost  perpendicular  bank  in  the 

300 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

face  of  a  scattering  rifle  fire  and  unfurled  his 
broad  pennant  in  sight  of  the  whole  line  of  boats. 
Quickly  the  marines  and  sailors  landed  and  cleared 
the  underbrush  of  snipers.  Then,  with  a  cloud  of 
skirmishers  thrown  out  on  either  flank,  a  com 
pany  of  pioneers  in  advance  to  clear  the  road,  and 
squads  of  bluejackets  marching  fan-fashion,  drag 
ging  their  field-pieces  behind  them,  the  column 
moved  on  Tabasco  with  the  burly  commodore 
tramping  at  its  head.  The  thermometer — for  it 
was  in  June — stood  at  130  degrees  in  the  shade — 
and  there  was  no  shade.  Man  after  man  fainted 
from  heat  and  exhaustion.  Miasma  rose  in  clouds 
from  the  jungle.  The  pitiless  sun  beat  down  from 
a  sky  of  brass.  The  country  was  so  swampy  that 
the  pioneers  had  to  fell  trees  and  build  bridges 
before  the  column  could  advance.  Every  few 
minutes  a  gun  would  sink  to  the  hubs  in  quick 
sand  and  a  whole  company  would  have  to  man 
the  drag-ropes  and  haul  it  out.  This  overland 
march,  through  a  roadless  and  pestilential  jungle, 
was  one  of  the  most  remarkable  exploits  and 
certainly  one  of  the  least  known  of  the  entire 
war. 

The  flotilla  left  in  the  river  had,  meanwhile, 
succeeded  in  blowing  up  the  obstructions  and, 
moving  up  the  stream,  shelled  the  Mexican  for- 

301 


The  Road  to  Glory 

tifications  from  the  rear  while  Perry  and  his 
sweating  men  prepared  to  carry  them  by  storm. 
Waiting  until  the  straggling  column  closed  up 
and  the  men  had  a  few  moments  in  which  to 
rest,  Perry  formed  his  command  into  "company 
front,"  and  signalled  to  his  bugler.  As  the  brazen 
strains  of  the  "charge"  pealed  out  the  line  of 
sweating,  panting,  cheering  men,  led  by  the  griz 
zled  commodore  himself,  pistol  in  one  hand  and 
cutlass  in  the  other,  swept  at  a  run  up  the  steep 
main  street  of  the  city  with  the  ships'  bands 
playing  them  into  action  with  "Yankee  Doodle." 
In  five  minutes  it  was  all  over  but  the  shouting. 
The  Mexican  garrison  had  fled,  and  our  flag  waved 
in  triumph  over  the  city  which  gave  the  sauce  its 
name.  The  capture  of  Tabasco,  whose  commer 
cial  importance  was  second  only  to  that  of  Vera 
Cruz,  was  the  last  important  naval  operation  of 
the  war.  Since  the  fall  of  Vera  Cruz,  Perry  and 
his  jack-tars  had  captured  six  fortress-defended 
cities,  had  taken  ninety-three  pieces  of  artillery, 
had  forced  neutrality  on  the  great,  rich  province 
of  Yucatan,  had  established  an  American  customs 
service  at  each  of  the  captured  ports,  and  had 
found  time  in  between  to  build  a  naval  hospital 
on  the  island  of  Salmadina,  which  saved  hundreds 
of  lives.  And  yet  but  few  of  our  people  are  aware 

302 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

that  Matthew  Perry  even  took  part  in  the  war 
with  Mexico. 

Perry's  service  in  Russia,  Egypt,  Italy,  Africa, 
the  West  Indies,  and  Mexico  was,  however,  but 
a  preparatory  course  for  the  great  adventure  on 
which  he  was  destined  to  embark,  for,  as  a  result 
of  the  extraordinary  fund  of  experience  and  in 
formation  he  had  gained  on  foreign  seaboards,  he 
was  selected  to  command  the  expedition  which 
the  American  Government  had  determined  to 
send  to  Japan  in  an  attempt  to  open  up  that 
empire  to  commerce  and  civilization.  Now,  you 
must  not  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  the  Japan  of 
sixty  years  ago  was  quite  a  different  country  from 
the  Japan  of  to-day.  The  Japanese  of  1853  were 
as  ultra-exclusive  and  as  pleased  with  themselves 
as  are  the  members  of  the  Newport  set.  They 
wanted  no  outsiders  in  their  country,  and  they 
did  not  have  the  slightest  desire  to  play  in  any 
one  else's  back  yard.  All  they  asked  was  to  be 
let  alone.  But  no  nation  can  successfully  oppose 
the  march  of  civilization.  It  must  either  welcome 
progress  or  go  under.  For  three  centuries  every 
maritime  power  in  Europe  had  attempted  to  open 
up  Japan,  and  always  they  had  met  with  failure. 
But  about  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century 
the  United  States  decided  to  take  a  hand  in  the 

303 


The  Road  to  Glory 

game.  With  the  conquest  and  settlement  of  Cal 
ifornia;  the  increase  of  American  commerce  with 
China;  the  growth  of  American  whale-fisheries  in 
Eastern  seas,  in  which  ten  thousand  Americans 
were  employed;  the  development  of  steam  traffic 
and  the  consequent  necessity  for  coaling  stations, 
it  became  increasingly  evident  to  the  frock-coated 
gentlemen  in  Washington  that  the  opening  of  the 
empire  of  the  Mikado  was  a  necessity  which  could 
not  much  longer  be  delayed. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  the  morning  of  July  7, 
1853,  saw  a  squadron  of  black-hulled  war-ships — 
the  Mississippi,  Susquehanna,  Plymouth)  and  Sara 
toga — sailing  into  the  Straits  of  Uraga  and  into 
Japanese  history.  And  on  the  bridge  of  the  flag 
ship,  his  telescope  glued  to  his  eye,  was  our  old 
friend,  Matthew  Calbraith  Perry.  The  Straits  of 
Uraga,  I  should  explain,  form  the  entrance  to  the 
Bay  of  Tokio,  whose  sacred  waters  had,  up  to 
that  time,  never  been  desecrated  by  the  hulls  of 
foreign  war-ships.  But  Perry  was  never  worried 
about  lack  of  precedent.  At  five  in  the  after 
noon  his  ships  steamed  in  within  musket-shot  of 
Uraga,  and,  at  the  shrill  signal  of  the  boatswains' 
pipes,  their  anchors  went  rumbling  down.  A  mo 
ment  later  a  string  of  signal-flags  fluttered  from 
the  flag-ship  in  a  message  which  read:  "Have  no 

304 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

communication  with  the  shore,  have  none  from 
the  shore."  Perry,  you  see,  had  spent  the  three 
preceding  years  in  preparing  for  this  expedition 
by  learning  all  that  he  could  of  the  Japanese  char 
acter  and  customs,  and  he  had  not  spent  them 
for  naught.  He  had  determined  that,  when  it 
came  to  being  really  snobbish  and  exclusive,  he 
would  make  the  Japanese,  who  had  theretofore 
held  the  record  for  that  sort  of  thing,  look  like 
amateurs.  And  he  did.  For  when  the  captain 
of  the  port,  in  his  ceremonial  dress  of  hempen 
cloth  and  lacquered  hat,  put  off  in  a  twelve-oared 
barge  to  inquire  the  business  of  the  strangers,  a 
marine  sentry  at  the  top  of  the  flag-ship's  ladder 
brusquely  motioned  him  away  as  though  he  were 
of  no  more  importance  than  a  tramp.  Then  came 
the  vice-governor,  flying  the  trefoil  flag  and  with 
an  escort  of  armored  spearmen,  but  he  met  with 
no  more  consideration  than  the  port-captain.  The 
American  ships  were  about  as  hospitable  as  so 
many  icebergs.  Indeed,  it  was  not  until  he  had 
explained  that  the  governor  was  prohibited  by 
law  from  boarding  a  foreign  vessel  that  the  vice- 
governor  was  permitted  to  set  foot  on  the  sacred 
deck  planks  of  the  flag-ship.  Even  then  he  was 
not  permitted  to  see  the  mighty  and  illustrious 
excellency  who  was  in  command  of  the  squadron; 

305 


The  Road  to  Glory 

no,  indeed.  As  befitted  his  inferior  rank,  he  was 
received  by  a  very  stiff,  very  haughty,  very  con 
descending  young  lieutenant  who  interrupted  the 
flowery  address  of  the  dazed  official  by  telling 
him  that  the  Americans  considered  themselves 
affronted  by  the  filthy  shore  boats  which  hov 
ered  about  them,  and  that  if  they  did  not  depart 
instantly  they  would  be  fired  on.  After  the  vice- 
governor  had  gone  to  the  rail  and  motioned  the 
inquisitive  boats  away,  the  lieutenant  informed 
him  that  the  illustrious  commander  of  the  mighty 
squadron  bore  an  autograph  letter  from  his  Ex 
cellency  the  President  of  the  United  States  to  the 
Mikado,  and  that  he  proposed  to  steam  up  to 
Tokio  and  deliver  it  in  person.  When  the  vice- 
governor  heard  this  he  nearly  fainted.  For  a 
fleet  of  barbarian  warships  to  anchor  off  the 
sacred  city,  the  capital  of  the  empire,  the  re 
sidence  of  the  son  of  heaven,  was  impossible, 
unthinkable,  sacrilegious.  The  very  thought  of 
it  paralyzed  him  with  fear.  When  he  carried  the 
news  of  what  the  Americans  proposed  doing  to 
the  governor,  that  official  changed  his  mind  about 
the  illegality  of  his  setting  foot  on  a  foreign  ship, 
and  the  following  morning,  with  a  retinue  which 
looked  like  the  chorus  of  a  comic  opera,  he  went 
in  state  to  the  flag-ship  to  expostulate.  But  the 

306 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

commodore  refused  to  see  the  governor,  just  as 
he  had  refused  to  see  his  subordinate,  and  that 
crestfallen  official,  his  feelings  sadly  ruffled,  was 
forced  to  content  himself  with  a  brief  conversa 
tion  with  Commander  Buchanan,  who  told  him 
that,  unless  arrangements  were  made  at  once  for 
delivering  the  President's  letter  to  a  direct  repre 
sentative  of  the  Mikado,  Commodore  Perry  was 
unalterably  determined  on  steaming  up  to  Tokio 
and  delivering  the  letter  to  the  Emperor  himself. 
From  beginning  to  end  of  the  interview,  the  Amer 
ican  officer,  who,  I  expect,  enjoyed  the  perform 
ance  hugely,  resented  the  slightest  lack  of  cere 
mony  on  the  governor's  part  and  did  not  hesitate 
to  give  evidence  of  his  displeasure  when  that  be 
deviled  official  omitted  anything  which  the  Ameri 
can  thought  he  ought  to  do.  At  length  the  now 
deeply  impressed  Japanese  agreed  to  despatch  a 
messenger  to  Tokio  for  further  instructions,  and 
to  this  the  Americans,  with  feigned  reluctance, 
agreed,  adding,  however,  that  if  an  answer  was 
not  received  within  three  days  they  would  move 
up  to  the  capital  and  learn  the  reason  why. 

The  appearance  of  American  war-ships  in  the 
Bay  of  Tokio  was  a  mighty  shock  to  the  Japa 
nese.  What  right  had  a  foreign  nation  to  impose 
on  them  a  commerce  which  they  did  not  want; 

307 


The  Road  to  Glory 

a  friendship  which  they  did  not  seek  ?  The  alarm- 
bells  clanged  throughout  the  empire.  Messengers 
on  reeking  horses  tore  through  every  town  spread 
ing  the  astounding  news.  Spears  were  sharpened, 
and  ancient  armor  was  dragged  from  dusty  chests. 
Night  and  day  could  be  heard  the  clangor  of  the 
smiths  forging  weapons  of  war.  Away  with  the 
barbarians!  To  arms !  Jhoi!  Jhoi!  Buddhists 
wore  away  their  rosaries  invoking  Kartikiya,  the 
god  of  war,  and  Shinto  priests  fasted  while  they 
called  on  the  sea  and  the  storm  to  destroy  the 
impious  invaders  of  the  Nipponese  motherland. 
The  hidebound  formality  of  untold  centuries  was 
swept  away  in  this  hour  of  common  danger,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  Japanese  history  high  and 
low  alike  were  invited  to  offer  suggestions  as  to 
what  steps  should  be  taken  for  the  protection  of 
the  nation  and  the  preservation  of  the  national 
honor.  It  didn't  take  the  wiseheads  long,  how 
ever,  to  decide  that  compliance  was  better  than 
defiance;  so,  on  the  last  of  the  three  days  of  grace 
granted  by  the  Americans,  the  governor  in  his 
gorgeous  robes  of  office  once  more  boarded  the 
Susquehanna  and,  with  many  genuflections,  in 
formed  the  officer  designated  to  meet  him  that 
the  letter  from  the  President  would  be  received 
a  few  days  later,  with  all  the  pomp  and  ceremony 

308 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

which  the  Imperial  Government  knew  how  to 
command,  in  a  pavilion  which  would  be  erected 
on  the  beach  near  Uraga  for  the  purpose,  by  two 
peers  of  the  empire  who  had  been  designated  by 
the  Mikado  as  his  personal  representatives. 

On  the  morning  of  July  14  the  squadron  weighed 
anchor  and  moved  up  so  as  to  command  the  place 
where  the  ceremony  was  to  be  held.  Carpenters, 
mat  makers,  tapestry  hangers,  and  decorators  sent 
from  the  capital  had  been  working  night  and  day, 
and  under  their  skilful  hands  a  great  pavilion, 
as  though  by  the  wave  of  a  magician's  wand, 
had  sprung  up  on  the  beach.  When  all  was  in 
readiness  the  governor  and  his  suite,  their  silken 
costumes  ablaze  with  gold  embroidery,  pulled  out 
to  the  flag-ship  to  escort  the  commodore  to  the 
shore.  As  the  Japanese  stepped  aboard,  a  signal 
called  fifteen  launches  and  cutters  from  the  other 
ships  of  the  squadron  to  the  side  of  the  Susque- 
hanna.  Officers,  bluejackets,  and  marines  in  all 
the  glory  of  full  dress  piled  into  them,  and,  led 
by  Commander  Buchanan's  gig,  they  headed  for 
the  shore,  the  oars  of  the  American  sailors  rising 
and  falling  in  beautiful  unison.  As  the  proces 
sion  of  boats  drew  out  to  its  full  length,  the 
bright  flags,  the  gorgeous  banners,  the  barbaric 
costumes  of  the  Japanese,  the  leather  shakoes  of 

309 


The  Road  to  Glory 

the  marines,  and  the  scarlet  tunics  of  the  bands 
men,  with  the  turquoise  sea  for  a  foreground  and 
the  great  white  cone  of  Fujiyama  rising  up  behind, 
combined  to  form  a  never-to-be-forgotten  picture. 
When  the  boats  were  half-way  to  the  landing 
stage,  a  flourish  of  bugles  sounded  from  the 
flag-ship,  the  marine  guard  presented  arms,  and 
Commodore  Perry,  resplendent  in  cocked  hat  and 
gold-laced  uniform,  attended  by  side  boys  and  fol 
lowed  by  a  glittering  staff,  descended  the  gangway 
and  entered  his  barge,  while  the  Susquehannas 
guns  roared  out  a  salute.  On  the  shore  a  guard  of 
honor  composed  of  American  sailors  and  marines 
was  drawn  up  to  receive  him.  As  he  set  foot  on 
the  soil  of  Japan  the  troops  presented  arms,  the 
officers  saluted,  the  drums  gave  the  three  ruffles, 
the  band  burst  into  the  American  anthem,  and 
the  colors  swept  the  ground.  Nothing  had  been 
left  undone  which  would  be  likely  to  impress 
the  ceremony-loving  Japanese,  and  the  effect  pro 
duced  was  spectacular  enough  to  have  satisfied 
P.  T.  Barnum.  The  land  procession  was  formed 
with  the  same  attention  to  ceremonial  and  display. 
First  came  a  hundred  marines  in  the  picturesque 
uniform  of  the  period,  marching  with  mechanical 
precision;  after  them  came  a  hundred  bluejackets 
with  the  roll  of  the  sea  in  their  gait,  while  at  the 

310 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

head  of  the  column  was  a  marine  band,  ablaze 
with  gold  and  scarlet.  Behind  the  bluejackets 
walked  Commodore  Perry,  guarded  by  two  gi 
gantic  negroes — veritable  Jack  Johnsons  in  phy 
sique  and  stature — preceded  by  two  ship's  boys 
bearing  the  mahogany  caskets  containing  Perry's 
credentials  and  the  President's  letter,  the  deliv 
ery  of  which  was  the  reason  for  all  this  extraor 
dinary  display. 

As  the  glittering  procession  entered  the  pavilion 
the  two  counsellors  of  the  empire  who  had  been 
designated  by  the  Mikado  to  receive  the  letter 
rose  and  stood  in  silence.  When  the  governor  of 
Uraga,  acting  as  master  of  ceremonies,  intimated 
that  all  was  ready,  the  two  boys  advanced  and 
handed  their  caskets  to  the  negroes.  These,  open 
ing  in  succession  the  rosewood  caskets  and  the 
envelopes  of  scarlet  cloth,  displayed  the  presi 
dential  letter  and  its  accompanying  credentials- 
impressive  documents  written  on  vellum,  bound 
in  blue  velvet,  and  fringed  with  seals  of  gold. 
Upon  the  master  of  ceremonies  announcing  that 
the  imperial  high  commissioners  were  ready  to 
receive  the  letter,  the  negroes  returned  the  im 
posing  documents  to  the  boys,  who  slowly  ad 
vanced  the  length  of  the  hall  and  deposited  them 
in  a  box  of  scarlet  lacquer  which  had  been  brought 


The  Road  to  Glory 

from  Tokio  for  the  purpose.  Again  a  frozen 
silence  pervaded  the  assemblage.  Then  Perry, 
speaking  through  an  interpreter,  paid  his  respects 
to  the  immobile  functionaries  and  announced  that 
he  would  return  for  an  answer  to  the  letter  in 
the  following  spring.  When  some  of  the  officials 
anxiously  inquired  if  he  would  come  with  all  four 
ships,  he  sententiously  replied:  "With  many 


more." 


Although  he  had  announced  that  he  would 
not  revisit  Japan  until  the  spring,  when  Perry 
learned  that  the  French  and  Russians  were  hast 
ily  preparing  expeditions  to  be  sent  to  Tokio  for 
the  purpose  of  counteracting  American  influence, 
he  decided  to  advance  the  date  of  his  return,  en 
tering  the  Bay  of  Tokio  for  the  second  time  on 
February  12,  1854,  thus  getting  ahead  of  his  Eu 
ropean  rivals.  This  time  he  had  with  him  a 
really  imposing  armada:  the  Susquehanna,  Mis 
sissippi,  Powhatan,  Macedonian,  Southampton,  Lex 
ington,  Vandalia,  Plymouth,  and  Saratoga.  On  this 
occasion  he  refused  to  stop  at  Uraga  and,  much 
to  the  consternation  of  the  Japanese,  steamed 
steadily  up  the  bay  and  anchored  off  Yokohama, 
within  sight  of  the  capital  itself.  The  negotia 
tions  which  ensued  occupied  several  days,  during 
which  Perry  insisted  on  the  same  pomp  and  cere- 

312 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

mony,  and  took  the  same  high-handed  course  that 
characterized  his  former  visit.  Noticing  that  the 
grounds  surrounding  the  treaty  house  had  been 
screened  in  by  large  mats,  he  inquired  the  reason, 
and  upon  being  informed  that  it  was  done  so  that 
the  Americans  might  not  see  the  country,  he  said 
that  he  considered  that  the  nation  he  represented 
was  insulted  and  ordered  that  the  screens  in 
stantly  be  removed.  That  was  the  sort  of  atti 
tude  that  the  Japanese  understood,  and  thereafter 
they  treated  Perry  with  even  more  profound  re 
spect.  The  negotiations  were  brought  to  a  con 
clusion  on  the  3  ist  of  March,  1854,  when  the  terms 
of  the  treaty  whereby  the  empire  of  Japan  was 
opened  to  American  commerce  were  finally  agreed 
upon.  Thus  was  recorded  one  of  the  greatest 
diplomatic  triumphs  in  our  history.  As  Wash 
ington  Irving  wrote  to  Commodore  Perry:  "You 
have  gained  for  yourself  a  lasting  name  and  have 
done  it  without  shedding  a  drop  of  blood  or  in 
flicting  misery  on  a  human  being." 

But  Perry's  accomplishment  had  a  sequel,  and  a 
bloody  one.  The  treaty  which  admitted  the  for 
eigner  precipitated  civil  war  in  Japan.  Although 
for  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  the  Japanese 
had  been  at  peace  and  their  sword-blades  were 
rusty  from  lack  of  use,  the  embers  of  rebellion 


The  Road  to  Glory 

had  long  been  smouldering,  and  the  act  that  ad 
mitted  the  alien  served  to  fan  them  into  the  flame 
of  open  revolt.  The  trouble  was  that  the  tycoon 
— the  viceroy,  the  mouthpiece  of  the  Mikado, 
the  power  behind  the  throne — had  become  all- 
powerful,  while  the  Mikado  himself,  as  the  result 
of  a  policy  of  seclusion  that  had  been  forced  upon 
him,  had  become  but  a  puppet,  a  figurehead.  As 
the  treaty  with  the  United  States  had  been  signed 
under  the  authority  of  the  tycoon,  the  rebels 
took  up  arms  in  a  double-barrelled  cause:  to  re 
store  the  Mikado  to  his  old-time  authority  and 
to  expel  the  "hairy  barbarians,"  as  the  foreigners 
were  pleasantly  called.  The  insurrectionists,  who 
represented  the  powerful  Choshiu  and  Satsuma 
clans,  induced  the  Mikado  to  issue  an  edict  set 
ting  June  25,  1863,  as  a  date  by  which  all  for 
eigners  should  be  expelled  from  the  empire.  The 
tycoon,  though  bound  to  the  United  States  and 
the  European  powers  by  the  most  solemn  treaties, 
found  himself  helpless.  He  promptly  sent  in  his 
resignation,  but  the  Mikado,  coerced  by  the  re 
bellious  clansmen,  refused  to  accept  it  and  left 
the  unhappy  viceroy  to  wriggle  out  of  the  predic 
ament  as  best  he  could. 

Meanwhile   the    leaders    of  the    Choshiu    clan 
seized    and   proceeded    to   fortify   and   mine   the 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

Straits  of  Shimonoseki,  the  great  highway  of  for 
eign  commerce  forming  the  entrance  to  the  inland 
sea,  which  at  that  point  narrows  down  to  a 
channel  three  miles  in  length  and  less  than  a 
mile  in  width,  through  which  the  tides  run  like 
a  mill-race.  On  June  25,  the  eventful  day  fixed 
for  the  expulsion  of  the  barbarians  from  the  sa 
cred  dominions  of  the  Mikado,  the  American  mer 
chant  steamer  Pembroke,  with  a  pilot  furnished 
by  the  Tokio  government  and  with  the  Ameri 
can  flag  at  her  peak,  was  on  her  way  northward 
through  the  channel  when  she  was  fired  on  by  the 
clansmen  though,  as  luck  would  have  it,  was  not  hit. 
But  peace  which  had  existed  in  Japan  for  nearly 
two  centuries  and  a  half  was  broken.  A  few  days 
later  a  French  despatch-boat  was  hit  in  seven 
places,  her  boat's  crew  nearly  all  killed  by  a  shell, 
and  the  vessel  saved  from  sinking  only  by  a 
lively  use  of  the  pumps.  On  July  II  a  Dutch 
frigate  was  hit  thirty-one  times,  and  nine  of  its 
crew  were  killed  or  wounded,  and  a  little  later  a 
French  gunboat  was  badly  hulled  as  she  dashed 
past  the  batteries  at  full  speed.  It  was  evident 
that  the  Japanese  had  acquired  modern  guns  in 
the  ten  years  that  had  passed  since  Perry  had 
taught  them  the  blessings  of  civilization,  and  it  was 
equally  evident  that  they  knew  how  to  use  them. 


The  Road  to  Glory 

News  is  magnified  as  it  travels  in  the  East,  and 
by  the  time  word  of  the  Pembroke  incident  reached 
Commander  David  McDougal,  who  was  cruising 
in  Chinese  waters  in  the  sloop  of  war  Wyoming 
in  pursuit  of  the  Confederate  privateer  Alabama, 
it  had  been  exaggerated  until  he  was  led  to  be 
lieve  that  the  American  vessel  had  been  sunk 
with  all  hands.  Though  possessing  neither  a  chart 
of  the  straits  nor  a  map  of  the  batteries,  McDougal 
ordered  his  ship  to  be  coaled  and  provisioned  at 
full  speed  (and  how  the  jackies  worked  when  they 
got  the  order!),  and  on  July  16,  under  a  cloudless 
sky,  without  a  breath  of  wind,  and  the  sea  as 
smooth  as  a  tank  of  oil,  the  Wyoming,  her  ports 
covered  with  tarpaulins  so  as  to  make  her  look 
like  an  unsuspecting  merchantman,  but  with  her 
crew  at  quarters  and  her  decks  cleared  for  ac 
tion,  came  booming  into  Shimonoseki  Straits. 
No  sooner  did  she  get  within  range  of  the  bat 
teries  than  the  five  eight-inch  Dahlgren  guns 
presented  to  Japan  by  the  United  States  as 
a  token  of  friendship,  opened  on  her  with  a  roar. 
It  was  not  exactly  a  convincing  proof  of  friend 
ship.  The  Japanese  batteries,  splendidly  handled, 
concentrated  their  fire  on  the  narrowest  part 
of  the  straits,  which  they  swept  with  a  hail  of 
projectiles,  while  beyond,  in  more  open  water, 

316 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

three  heavily  armed  converted  merchantmen — the 
steamer  Lance  field,  the  bark  Daniel  Webster,  and 
the  brig  Lanrick,  all,  oddly  enough,  American 
vessels  which  had  been  purchased  by  the  clans 
men  for  use  against  their  former  owners — lay  di 
rectly  athwart  the  channel,  prepared  to  dispute 
the  Wyoming  s  passage,  should  she,  by  a  miracle, 
succeed  in  getting  past  the  batteries.  As  the  first 
Japanese  shell  screamed  angrily  overhead,  the  tar 
paulins  concealing  the  Wyoming's  guns  disap 
peared  in  a  twinkling,  the  stars  and  stripes  broke 
out  at  her  masthead,  and  her  artillery  cut  loose. 
It  was  a  surprise  party,  right  enough,  but  the  sur 
prise  was  on  the  Japanese. 

As  McDougal  approached  the  narrows,  sweep 
ing  them  with  his  field-glasses,  his  attention  was 
caught  by  a  line  of  stakes  which,  as  he  rightly 
suspected,  had  been  placed  there  by  the  Japanese 
to  gauge  their  fire.  Accordingly,  instead  of  tak 
ing  the  middle  of  the  channel,  as  denoted  by  the 
line  of  stakes,  he  ordered  the  Japanese  pilot,  who 
was  paralyzed  with  terror,  to  run  close  under  the 
batteries.  It  was  well  that  he  did  so,  for  no 
sooner  was  the  Wyoming  within  range  than  the 
Japanese  gunners  opened  a  cannonade  which 
would  have  blown  her  out  of  the  water  had  she 
been  in  mid-channel,  where  they  confidently  ex- 


The  Road  to  Glory 

pected  her  to  be,  but  which,  as  it  was,  tore  through 
her  rigging  without  doing  serious  harm.  There 
were  six  finished  batteries,  mounting  in  all  thirty 
guns,  and  the  three  converted  merchantmen  car 
ried  eighteen  pieces,  making  forty-eight  cannon 
opposed  to  the  Wyoming  s  six. 

Clearing  the  narrows,  McDougal,  despite  the 
protestations  of  his  pilot,  who  said  that  he  would 
certainly  go  aground,  gave  orders  to  go  in  be 
tween  the  sailing  vessels  and  take  the  steamer. 
Just  then  a  masked  battery  opened  on  the  Wy 
oming,  but  even  in  those  days  the  fame  of  the 
American  gunners  was  as  wide  as  the  seas,  and 
they  justified  their  reputation  by  placing  a  single 
shell  so  accurately  that  its  explosion  tore  the  whole 
battery  to  pieces.  Then  McDougal,  signalling 
for  "full  steam  ahead,"  dashed  straight  at  the 
Daniel  Webster,  pouring  in  a  broadside  as  he 
swept  by  which  left  her  crowded  decks  a  shambles. 
Then,  opening  on  the  Lanrick  with  his  starboard 
guns,  he  fought  the  two  ships  at  the  same  time, 
the  action  being  at  such  close  quarters  that  the 
guns  of  the  opponents  almost  touched.  In  this, 
the  first  battle  with  modern  weapons  in  which 
they  had  ever  engaged,  the  Japanese  showed  the 
same  indifference  to  death  and  the  same  remark 
able  ability  as  fighters  and  seamen  which  was  to 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

bring  about  the  defeat  of  the  Russians  half  a 
century  later.  So  rapidly  did  the  crew  of  the 
Lanrick  serve  their  guns  that  they  managed  to 
pour  three  broadsides  into  the  Wyoming  before 
the  latter  sent  her  to  the  bottom.  The  Lanrick 
thus  rubbed  off  the  slate,  McDougal  swept  down 
upon  the  Lanctfitld,  and  oblivious  of  the  terrific 
fire  directed  upon  him  by  the  Daniel  Webster  and 
the  shore  batteries,  coolly  manoeuvred  for  a  fight 
ing  position.  But  during  this  manoeuvre  the 
Wyoming  went  ashore  while  at  the  same  moment 
the  heavily  manned  Japanese  steamer  bore  down 
with  the  evident  intention  of  ramming  and  board 
ing  her  while  she  was  helpless  in  the  mud.  For  a 
moment  it  looked  as  though  the  jig  was  up,  and  it 
flashed  through  the  mind  of  every  American 
that,  before  going  into  action,  McDougal  had 
given  orders  that  the  Wyoming  was  to  be  blown 
up  with  every  man  on  board  rather  than  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  enemy — for  those  were  the  days 
when  the  Japanese  subjected  their  prisoners  to 
the  horrors  of  the  thumb-screws,  the  dripping 
water,  and  the  torture  cage.  But  after  a  few 
hair-raising  moments,  during  which  every  Ameri 
can  must  have  held  his  breath  and  murmured  a 
little  prayer,  the  powerful  engines  of  the  Wyo 
ming  succeeded  in  pulling  her  off  the  sand-bar, 


The  Road  to  Glory 

whereupon,  ignoring  the  bark  of  the  batteries, 
McDougal  manoeuvred  in  the  terribly  swift  cur 
rent  until  the  American  gunners  could  see  the 
Lance  field  along  the  barrels  of  their  eleven-inch 
pivot-guns.  Then  both  Dahlgrens  spoke  to 
gether.  The  accuracy  of  the  American  fire  was 
appalling.  The  first  two  shells  tore  apertures  as 
big  as  barn-doors  in  the  Japanese  vessel's  hull,  a 
third  ripped  through  her  at  the  water-line,  passed 
through  the  boiler,  tore  out  her  sides,  and  burst  far 
away  in  the  town  beyond.  The  frightful  explo 
sion  which  ensued  was  followed  by  a  rain  of  ashes, 
timbers,  ironwork,  and  fragments  of  human  beings, 
and  before  the  smoke  had  cleared  the  Lance- 
field  had  sunk  from  sight.  It  was  now  the  Daniel 
Webster's  turn,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  name 
sake  of  the  great  statesman  was  shattered  and 
sinking.  The  three  vessels  thus  disposed  of,  the 
Wyoming  was  now  free  to  turn  her  undivided  at 
tention  to  the  shore  batteries,  her  gunners  plac 
ing  shell  after  shell  with  as  unerring  accuracy  as 
Christy  Mathewson  puts  his  balls  across  the  plate. 
Gun  after  gun  was  put  out  of  action,  battery  after 
battery  was  silenced,  until  the  whole  line  of  for 
tifications  was  a  heap  of  ruins  with  dismounted 
cannon  lying  behind  their  wrecked  embrasures 
and  dead  and  wounded  Japanese  strewn  every- 

320 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

where.  At  twenty  minutes  past  noon  firing  ceased. 
Then,  his  work  accomplished,  McDougal  turned 
his  ship  and  steamed  triumphantly  the  length  of 
the  straits  while  the  hills  of  Japan  echoed  and 
re-echoed  the  hurrahs  of  the  American  sailors. 

In  this  extraordinary  action,  which  lasted  an 
hour  and  ten  minutes,  the  Wyoming  was  hulled 
ten  times,  her  funnel  had  six  holes  in  it,  two  masts 
were  injured  and  her  top-hamper  badly  damaged. 
Of  her  crew,  five  were  killed  and  seven  wounded. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  lone  American,  with  her 
six  guns,  had  destroyed  six  shore  batteries  mount 
ing  thirty  improved  European  cannon  and  had 
sent  three  ships,  with  eighteen  pieces  of  ordnance, 
to  the  bottom,  killing  upward  of  a  hundred  Jap 
anese  and  wounding  probably  that  many  more. 
It  is  no  exaggeration,  I  believe,  to  assert  that  the 
history  of  the  American  navy  contains  no  achieve 
ment  of  a  single  commander  in  a  single  ship  which 
surpasses  that  of  David  McDougal  in  the  Wyo 
ming  at  Shimonoseki.  Dewey's  victory  at  Manila 
was  but  a  repetition  of  the  Shimonoseki  action  on 
a  larger  scale. 

Four  days  later  two  French  war-ships  went  in 
and  hammered  to  pieces  such  fragments  of  the 
fortifications  as  the  Wyoming  s  gunners  had  left, 
but  the  clansmen,  reinforced  by  ronins,  or  free- 

321 


The  Road  to  Glory 

lances,  from  all  parts  of  the  empire,  repaired  their 
losses,  built  new  batteries,  mounted  heavier  guns, 
and  succeeded  for  fifteen  months  in  keeping  the 
straits  closed  to  foreign  commerce.  Then  an  al 
lied  fleet  of  seventeen  ships,  with  upward  of  seven 
thousand  men,  repeated  the  work  which  the  Wy 
oming  had  done  single-handed,  forcing  the  pas 
sage,  destroying  the  forts,  putting  an  end  to  the 
uprising,  and  restoring  safety  to  the  foreigner  in 
Japan.  The  American  representation  in  this 
great  international  armada  consisted  of  one  small 
vessel,  the  Ta  Kiang,  manned  by  thirty  sailors 
and  marines  under  Lieutenant  Frederick  Pearson, 
and  mounting  but  a  single  gun.  So  gallant  a 
part  was  played  by  Pearson  in  his  cockle-shell 
that  Queen  Victoria  took  the  extraordinary  step 
of  decorating  him  with  the  Order  of  the  Bath, 
which  Congress  permitted  him  to  wear — the  only 
American,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  that  has  ever 
been  thus  honored.  But  no  other  operation  of 
the  war  so  impressed  the  Japanese  and  so  gained 
their  admiration  and  respect  as  when  the  Wyo 
ming  came  storming  into  the  straits  and  defied  and 
defeated  all  their  ships  and  guns.  Years  after 
ward  a  noted  Japanese  editor  wrote:  "That  action 
did  more  than  all  else  to  open  the  eyes  of  Japan." 
Though  the  European  commanders  were  loaded 

322 


When  We  Fought  the  Japanese 

with  honors  and  decorations  for  what  was,  after 
all,  but  supplementary  work,  the  heroism  dis 
played  by  McDougal  and  his  bluejackets  received 
neither  reward  nor  recognition  from  their  own 
countrymen,  for  1863  was  the  critical  year  of  the 
Civil  War,  and  the  thunder  of  the  Wyoming  s 
guns  in  far-away  Japan  was  lost  in  the  roar  of 
the  guns  at  Gettysburg.  As  Colonel  Roosevelt 
once  remarked:  "Had  that  action  taken  place  at 
any  other  time  than  during  the  Civil  War,  its 
fame  would  have  echoed  all  over  the  world/' 
But,  though  few  Americans  are  aware  that  we 
once  fought  and  whipped  the  Japanese,  I  fancy 
that  it  has  not  been  forgotten  by  the  Japanese 
themselves. 


323 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 

Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  priod  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


MAR    4197179 


REC'D  ID      FEB  18  /'I  -9 AM  1.  9 


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